


You and Me? (We'll Be Alright)

by forgivemenot



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild depictions of blood, Minor Violence, OOC Character Interpretations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgivemenot/pseuds/forgivemenot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only...Murdoc hadn't been abused at the hands of his father. If only Murdoc hadn't reached the breaking point so early in life. If only Murdoc had been raised by someone different.<br/>This is the story of what could have been-or rather, what had been, with a bit of a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> If only Sebastian Jacob Niccals had never been involved.

Clouds fluttered through the sky, growing dense and grey as the day wore on, and seemed to compress together, folding into a sheet of darkness that covered the entire city. Rain was inevitable, but they were used to it, so it wasn’t a bother. At least, no more than usual.

It was quiet, though, which was odd, because usually they heard the bustle of cars and buses and people clamoring outside, a constant in the urban atmosphere. But there wasn’t anything, a strange stillness enveloping the world that was neither comforting nor frightening. It simply was.

Suddenly, the still air was disturbed by a strange sound, a loud cry echoing up into the flat that seemed to penetrate, making the occupants stiffen. Slowly, they turned to look at each other, a question burning in their eyes and threatening to spill from their lips. The sound grew louder, becoming more pronounced, and they realized with such undue certainty that it was definitely a baby’s wail greeting their ears.

As if they’d read each other’s thoughts, they simultaneously moved down the steps, their confusion making them quiet. It was as if they were afraid to break the stillness, to disrupt what was only for the childish cry to disturb.

Hesitantly, they opened the door, peering around before looking down, eyes widening in surprise. There, on the foot of the steps, was a small bundle, which held a crying child and a single envelope. With trembling fingers, one of them reached down to grab the thick paper, jaggedly prying open the glued flap and accidentally tearing the thin paper inside. He read the contents quietly, unsure what to make of the news, and looked up to face his partner, a different question just on the tip of his tongue.

“Ana, do you…? Here, read this,” he said, brow furrowing as he leaned down to gently pick up the baby. He was rather worried about its almost green complexion, wondering if the poor thing had gotten sick while out in the rain for who knew how long.

“Oh my goodness,” Ana finally said, looking up to stare at the child with concern and sympathy. “Ah, there’s no choice, is there? We have to take him in, Alphonse.” Alphonse held the child close and wrapped the blanket tighter around its body, attempting to warm the chilled skin and restore some color to the pallid face. The baby cooed softly after a while, a gummy smile enveloping its face before its eyes drooped, and it fell asleep.

“Well,” Alphonse muttered after a while, smiling softly down at the sleeping child. “We always wanted children, didn’t we?” Ana chuckled in response, her eyes crinkling as her lips curved up into a smile, and they stood on the porch for a few minutes, watching the child wonderingly as the rain pattered around them.

“Lucky that Sebastian didn’t find him,” Ana muttered after a while, gesturing for Alphonse to head inside as she picked up the basket, the letter wrinkling in her hand in the process. The click of the door accompanied the agreeing silence Alphonse gave off, the muted thud of their feet climbing the stairs echoing slightly.

“Yeah,” Alphonse nodded, waiting for Ana to open the door. “My brother’s a right bastard, isn’t he?”

“An abusive arsehole, darling. See how he treats Hannibal?”  There was an edge to her voice, one Alphonse shared, that let her feelings on the subject known. Alphonse didn’t answer, but Ana hadn’t expected him to.

They walked quietly inside, sitting on the couch once again. The stillness, for all its briefness, seemed broken now, a sort of movement and feeling accompanying their discovery. Alphonse felt a sense of excitement bubble in him, one he knew Ana shared since they were so similar that way, and because her face seemed alight with something fiery and resolute.

“He’s gone now, though. Doubt he’s coming back after what happened yesterday.” Ana hummed in agreement, fingers reaching over to move the blanket off the child’s face where it had fallen. The baby breathed in once deeply, its tiny chest rising and falling steadily as it settled down once again. The ghost of that wide smile still graced its lips, as if it were excited, too.

“What should we call him? Or her. The letter didn’t specify, did it?” Alphonse wondered, looking up at his wife in question.

“A boy, it said,” she clarified, pursing her lips. “Though it didn’t give a name.”

“What do you think about…Murdoc? Murdoc Niccals,” he mused, leg shaking slightly as he rocked the baby back and forth.

“Murdoc Alphonse Niccals, then? Has a nice ring to it,” Ana proposed, a fondness seeping into her tone.

“Hmm, yes,” Alphonse muttered, rolling the name on his tongue once more. “Sounds about right.”

 

***

 

It was nice out, surprisingly. The sun was obscured only slightly by puffs of clouds roaming the sky, and no rain threatened to spill from them.

They had been walking for a while, in search of a store for his mother to rummage through and find the cloth she needed to make Murdoc a new jumper. He’d just grown out of his old one, and it was stained anyway, so they figured a nice family walk in the agreeable weather wouldn’t be so bad. Regardless, Murdoc wanted to venture outside, having been stuck inside for the past few days due to heavy rain and busy schedules.

They were busy crossing an intersection, running hurriedly to the other side, as Murdoc looked around excitedly, his free hand reaching up to pat his hair out of his face so he could see properly. The fringe obscured his vision enough for it to be a hassle, so he begged his mom to cut his hair when they got home, and she agreed, noting silently how it bothered his childish exploration.

Murdoc had never been to that part of the city, so he was doubly excited, and it showed clearly on his face as he took in the new sights, eyes wide and wondering. It wasn’t terribly special, but to him it was something new to gaze at and capture his attention, however fleeting.

They rounded the corner, nearing the shop his mother needed to visit, when he spotted a store with glass windows that garnered his attention. He looked into the shop curiously, his brown eyes flickering wildly as it took in the assortment of strange metal shapes hanging on the walls, various pieces of equipment he didn’t recognize scattered wildly in the display. He tugged on his father’s shirt, getting his attention, and stopped his parents, pointing inside the shop.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice childishly high and lisping.

“A very impressive stock of musical instruments, son,” his father answered, looking down at Murdoc in question.

“And that? Isn’t that a guitar?” he asked when a specific instrument caught his eye. It was huge and shiny, a few nobs and strings marring its geometric surface, very similar to the stringed instrument Murdoc thought it looked like.

“That’s a bass guitar,” his mother answered, voice tainted with curiosity. “It’s like a guitar, but it sounds deeper.” Murdoc stared at the bass with huge eyes, a smile slowly growing on his face as he examined it.

“I want one,” he declared, finger now pointed in uncontained excitement. “I want to play it.” His mother and father glanced at each other in confounded amusement, though Murdoc hardly noticed them, too entranced by the brilliant red and white instrument gleaming before him.

“When you’re older, Murdoc,” his mother finally said, her voice light. “You’re too small to play it right now.”

“Aw, but mum,” he begged, pouting. “I want it! I really, really, really want it.”

“Listen to your mother,” his father admonished gently, tugging for his son to follow. Murdoc listened reluctantly, glancing at the instrument one last time before turning away and following his parents.

“Maybe we can put you through piano lessons,” his mother mused, smiling down softly at her son. “It’ll help ease you into learning music, and you can learn to play faster when you’re older.” Murdoc nodded excitedly, his head bobbing up and down with such speed that it almost looked like his head would roll off.

“Please, mum! I really wanna learn!” His mother and father laughed, already talking about the possibility of saving enough money for a baby grand piano and teaching Murdoc the bits they remembered from their younger years before getting him a proper instructor. Murdoc listened to them for a while, a strange excitement building up in his chest as he thought about the possibility of playing any instrument.

But he knew, with such certainty only a child could possess, that the bass was the one instrument he desperately wanted to play, that he was destined to learn the intricacies of the instrument like no one else. He knew he wanted to play it, and nothing in the world would stop him.

Except, maybe, his youth. But he’d grow up soon, and if he started learning how to play something now, he’d be even better when he was older.

He skipped merrily along with his parents, his thoughts wandering to his budding dreams of playing, and even though he was very young, he held such a focus on the subject that he’d never experienced before. It both startled him and excited him, his heart ready to burst with anticipation.

The next day, his parents began clearing the admittedly small living room. Murdoc watched them with happiness threatening to choke him, his hands gripping the soft fabric his mother had purchased the day before that she was slowly but surely shaping into his new jumper.

“I can’t believe he was just giving it away like that,” his mother commented, looking up at his father with a twinkle in her eye. “Didn’t have to pay too much.”

“It’s wonderful,” his father replied, a smile gracing his face gently. “It should get here by tomorrow.”

“Right,” she chuckled, wiping her hands as she finished rearranging the furniture to make a big enough space for the baby grand piano they were expecting. “Now, Murdoc, we’ll teach you all we can until we get enough money to hire you an instructor, alright? How does that sound?”

“Great!” Murdoc exclaimed, his hands bunching the fabric. “Thank you so much! You’re the best!” They all laughed and Murdoc ran to hug them, his arms wrapping around their knees tightly. They bent over to pat his back and laugh at his antics, hugging him in return.

“You’ll be wonderful, darling,” his mother said, and Murdoc smiled at the as of yet undeserved praise. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be famous one day.”

“That would be great, wouldn’t it?” his father said encouragingly. “Murdoc Niccals! Famous pianist!”

“No, dad,” Murdoc corrected, one chubby finger held up to make his point. “I wanna play bass, remember? I’ll be a famous bass player.”

“Right, right,” his father laughed. “Famous bassist. Maybe you’ll start a band, yeah? I’m sure you’ll have loads of fun!” Murdoc agreed enthusiastically, a series of confirmations and approving gestures following his father’s words.

“Yes!” he said excitedly. “It’ll be the best band in the world! And I’ll make it myself!”

 

***

 

“Murdoc Sebastian Niccals!” his father yelled, his face turning red from anger and strain. Murdoc crept down out of his room silently, his olive skin seemingly pale but his cheeks were flushed, his ears turning equally red.

“What is it?” he asked, trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice. He knew already, but he wanted to hear his father’s take on Murdoc’s slip. He hadn’t liked the alcohol he’d snuck, anyway. It tasted bitter, acidic, burning his throat unpleasantly as it slid down his throat to weigh heavily in his stomach.

“Why?” his father asked him simply, crossing his arms as he pointed to the half-empty bottle. Murdoc glanced at it accusingly before lowering his eyes, hands pressed against his back as he cursed his mates from school. Idiots, he thought. They were right idiots, and he was one too for having fallen for their teasing.

“I was curious,” he answered simply, which was the truth but not the whole of it. His father seemed to pick up on the openness of his statement, on the slight lilting of his words that gave him away.

“Curious, was it?” his father scoffed angrily, hand going up to run through his dark hair. “Tell me the truth, Murdoc. All of it.” At first, Murdoc refused to say more. He gazed down at his socks as one foot dug into the floor, toeing the fluffy carpet quietly. His father sighed, hand moving from his hair to cover and rub at his eyes.

“Was it those mates of yours, again? The ones who convinced you to try smoking a few weeks ago?” Murdoc’s flinch was answer enough, and his father sighed again, moving slowly to put away the bottle and rest his arms on the sink in the kitchen.

“That’s all well and fine,” his father said after a while. Murdoc hadn’t moved from where he was, still staring down at the carpet as his feet ran over it and his hands tugged at each other behind his back.

“But, Murdoc, you have to realize that you’re heading down a very dangerous path. I don’t want you ending up like my brother, alright?” Murdoc wrinkled his nose in disgust at the mere mention of the man, who he’d only met once and instantly disliked. He was boorish, an unsuccessful, abusive alcoholic that had ruined his son, Hannibal, in the worst possible ways, and Murdoc detested him. He didn’t want to be like that man. Not ever.

“Come here, son,” his father beckoned after a moment, his arms open in invitation. Without hesitation, Murdoc walked over and hugged the man, his arms going around to hug his father’s waist. He wasn’t too tall yet, but he had hope. He was only thirteen, after all.

“Just, don’t do it again, alright?” his father begged, his gentle voice buzzing in Murdoc’s ears. “Not until you’re old enough, at least. Then you’ll have plenty of time to do all those things. Just not now.” Murdoc nodded, his hands gripping his father’s shirt tighter as he listened to his father’s advice.

“Alright,” Murdoc said simply, finally letting go of his father and taking a step back. “I promise.”

“Good, then. Good.”

Murdoc gave him a hesitant smile before walking back to his room, waving good-bye to his father. He strode in and closed the door, hesitating before turning the lock. He sat on the edge of his bed and gently picked up his bass, carefully avoiding the amp it was connected to as his fingers dancing over the strings in an effort to tune it.

He was so proud of it, the beauty of the instrument not lost on him nor anyone that saw it, and he’d gotten it recently, too, so he was careful with it. His hands were gentle when they reached over to pluck strings or strum, and when he handled his equipment he made sure to take good care of it.

He finished tuning relatively quickly. After years of playing the piano and learning everything and anything about music and theory, he was extremely adept at picking out any inconsistencies in pitch and intonation, so it was merely a matter of listening and gentle persuasion at that point. His hands and ears knew what to do.

He strummed quietly, turning the amp down when he deemed it slightly too loud, and began going through the scales, fingers occasionally slipping though he righted them quickly.

After finishing his warm up exercises, he began to play a simple tune, one he found online that he thought was helpful concerning its easiness. He played it for a while, trying to get the notes right and pausing to glance at the music sheet sitting next to him before continuing.

Most days were like that now. When he finished his studies, he practiced piano for an hour then went to his room to practice his bass as much as he wanted. Though calm, it was a fun routine for him, and he had no interests in much else save playing and learning the intricacies of his instrument. His parents were supportive of his efforts, at least, so long as he maintained his good grades and tried not to get in too much trouble.

Truthfully, it wasn’t his fault for the most part. On the occasions that he received detention, it was almost always because he’d taken the blame for one of his delinquent friends, and honestly he was getting tired of them, anyway. He didn’t care about them so much, and his interests were too personal to share with the likes of them. As if they would care, anyway.

He figured he’d try to ease out of their circle at first, growing more distant so they wouldn’t complain when he refused to partake in their idiocy. Not that he didn’t have fun on occasion, but there were limits, which his parents had instilled in him from a young age.

He slipped as he tried to play a chord, his pick tumbling out of his fingers as the music screeched to a halt. He sighed, picking it up again, and resumed his playing, deciding that he would think about that stuff later. Now was a time for playing, not worrying.

 

***

 

“Fuck you, you prick!” Murdoc yelled, hands balled into fists at his side as he glared at the man towering before him. True, he was shorter, but that wouldn’t stop him from punching a hole through the man’s stomach after what he’d said.

“Fuck yourself, you twat,” the man replied, eyes glancing at Murdoc coldly. “It’s because of you that this band isn’t going anywhere.”

“What are you talking about?” Murdoc muttered angrily, voice rising and garnering the attention of everyone in the room. “The reason this band is falling apart isn’t me, sunshine! You can barely play the keyboard, monkey brains over there can’t sing for shit, and your drummer is better on guitar than your guitarist.” The others flinched away knowingly, silently agreeing with Murdoc’s assessment of the band’s abilities. However, Butch, who had been arguing with Murdoc in the first place, merely strengthened his glare, his pride getting in the way of reason.

“Look, Mudkip-”

“Murdoc,” he interjected angrily. The man waved his complaints away, looking more annoyed.

“Yeah, whatever. We haven’t had any problems until you joined.”

“That’s because I’m the only one pointing out how awful everything is! No one else has the balls to stand up to you, you hulking mass of putrid flesh!” Butch didn’t look too fazed, although the last comment garnered a raised eyebrow. Murdoc rolled his eyes, his hands moving up to grip the strap hanging around his neck in an effort to calm himself.

“Look, you sack of shit. I joined this band because you told me you all knew what you were doing, and for some sodding reason, I fucking believed you without even checking in the first place. I toughed it out for a while, but I’m through. Find yourself a new bassist.” He turned to leave, his fingers moving to unplug his equipment, when his ears picked up Butch’s comment.

“We could probably find a better one, anyway. You sound like absolute shit.” Murdoc slowly straightened himself, his hands resting on the bass as he processed what Butch had said.

“Excuse me?” he asked, turning around, eyes boring into Butch’s. “I don’t think I quite caught that.”

“I said you’re a shit player, mate, and you’re rather ugly to boot. Can’t have a front man that looks like a fucking pickle, can we?” Murdoc looked down at the floor silently, head bobbing as he thought about what Butch said, before he raised his fist and punched him right in the face. Butch stumbled back, tripping on the drum set, and before he could so much as blink, Murdoc was on him, fists crashing into his flesh and feet kicking into the prone man’s body.

“First of all,” he said in between punches, his lips turning up into a sneer. “I’m one of the best players around. Second, the only ugly one around here is you, mate. Or at least, it will be.” No one stepped in to save Butch, all either too afraid of Murdoc’s incredible ability to send a man straight out a window or accepting of the beating. Butch’s abusive antics and constant praising of the mediocrity the band produced was tiresome, and his unwillingness to listen was equally irksome.

Murdoc stopped after only a few punches, carefully detaching himself from Butch’s limp body before spitting on the man. Butch looked up at him with swollen eyes and a burst lip, his glare still prominent despite the injuries.

“Get out,” he managed to bark, trying to get up and failing. Murdoc smiled grimly and grabbed his equipment, sending Butch a mocking salute and bidding the others farewell.

“ _Adios_ , shitlord,” he grumbled, waltzing out of the room. “Have fun being bloody fucking awful.” He kicked the door open and hurriedly made his way outside, trying to forget about what happened only moments ago.

It was the fifth time he’d been either kicked out of a band or quit one. It wasn’t because he couldn’t play; he played extremely well, actually, and had gotten praise from everyone, which he’d attributed to his constant practicing. However, all of the bands he’d joined either grew tired of his attempting to give advice or had as much talent as a rotten banana peel. None of them, he knew, would amount to anything regardless, and he tired of dealing with cumbersome pricks like Butch who thought the world of themselves while putting everyone else down.

Still, it was rather troublesome that he’d lost his temper like that. Usually, he was very good at keeping it in check, but after the third time he’d bumped elbows with mediocrity, he wasn’t feeling very patient. Also, Butch was the first person to really make fun of Murdoc’s complexion, which was something he was, admittedly, too sensitive about, and the only response he could think to produce was rather aggressive.

But really, there was no excuse. He shouldn’t have beaten the man like that, no matter how big of a prick he was. Sighing, he tried to calm himself down, and when he reached his flat, he felt the usual sense of calm drape itself on him. With some trouble, he managed to open the door and flew up the stairs, his heeled boots clicking on the wooden panels loudly and signaling his return.

His parents greeted him cheerily but quickly left him alone when they saw his face, somehow knowing that something had gone wrong and giving him space to sort himself. It was kind of them, something that Murdoc loved dearly about them and was constantly grateful for. He was not the most pleasant person to be around when he lost his temper, but fortunately it happened so sparingly that it never became a big problem.

He carefully set his things down in his room, lying down in his bed and staring at the various posters depicting famous artists or bands hanging on the walls of his room. He hoped someday to be one of them, to be a poster on the wall that would inspire someone else to create music and follow their dreams like he wanted to. And God, it wasn’t that he didn’t try! He tried his best. But his future as a bassist was looking bleaker and bleaker as time wore on, and truthfully Murdoc was growing very weary.

He always had his studies to fall back on, but a future in the medical field, which he was studying for, wasn’t something he really wanted to look forward to.

He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour and gazed up at the covered ceiling, absentmindedly studying the posters tacked up there. Looking at the rows upon rows of successful bands, he wondered why it seemed so hard to find one that had an inkling of talent. If Murdoc had been in charge of at least one of them, he would have been able to make something out of them.

“If only,” he chuckled darkly. “If only.”

Suddenly, he bolted upright, his eyes growing wide as he thought. A grin slowly made its way across his face, his long tongue darting out in his excitement before he sucked it back in quickly.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, so loud that his parents no doubt heard. If he couldn’t find a good band, he’d start one himself! It was a brilliant plan, one that he knew would get him more results than simple band searching. A great excitement began to overtake him, not unlike the one he felt when he first held the bass in his hands after years of begging for one, and it felt as rejuvenating as it had that time.

He wasted no time as he began thinking over what exactly he planned on doing.

 

***

 

Murdoc grumbled angrily as he kicked the cheap sofa sitting in his flat, his hands twitching in frustration. The man had been good, true, but he was a complete wanker, a piece of self-glorifying shit that he didn’t want to deal with.

It was probably the twentieth person he’d rejected for the position as singer after the first few good ones had quit after only a few months in the band. After the last one, the entire band had gone to rubbish, and they went their separate ways. Murdoc still held out hope, though, and so he continued to hold auditions for positions in a new band on the weekends when he wasn’t working.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job as a nurse. He liked it well enough, actually, even if the patients were annoying at times. The pay wasn’t too bad, either, and it afforded him a decent flat a bit away from his parents, so it was fine. True, he couldn’t afford much other than rent and basic necessities, but it was enough for him, so he didn’t complain.

But, he thought. But…something was missing. He wanted-or rather, craved-to put his musical talents in action, and the only way to accomplish that was to be in a band. When he’d decided to make one himself, he hadn’t known how hard it would be. It wasn’t that the people he accepted weren’t good; far from it. Most of them were great, actually. However, their personalities just didn’t mesh with Murdoc’s well.

Murdoc knew he wasn’t the kindest man. He wasn’t terribly bad, but he could be better. He knew he had a streak of narcissistic pride that spanned the globe, but he thought it well-deserved. After all, he was one of the best damn bass players to have ever lived, and he wasn’t simply saying it for kicks. He’d won numerous competitions, and every member of every band he’d ever been in-with the exception of that fucking bastard Butch who he hadn’t seen in years-had complimented him on his musical prowess.

But he knew that sheer talent alone wasn’t enough to make a successful band. The members had to at least tolerate each other enough to practice well and be productive, and they had to be creative enough to make songs that would sell well. So far, none of the people he’d tried to work with could accomplish either of those. They either hated him or hated each other, never went to practice, or didn’t have the abilities to write likable, original songs.

Murdoc sat down tiredly on his couch, absentmindedly picking up his bass and picking at the strings. He didn’t want to give up. He wouldn’t give up. But sometimes, it was so damn hard to keep going. He had a decent job, a decent flat, and a decent life. True, he didn’t have any friends, nor did he do much except drink a little on the weekends and hit up the bars, occasionally hitting the sheets with someone.

It could be so much better, though. He wanted it to be better, so he wouldn’t give up.

He suddenly groaned when he remembered that the next weekend he’d promised his parents he’d visit them. He couldn’t wait to see them after all these months, but he desperately wanted to be alone for a while. Either way, he resolved to go, if only because he’d promised them.

He was so entranced by his thoughts that he didn’t notice the knocking until the person on the other side of his door was practically pounding on it. With a start, he jumped up, gently putting his bass down and walking over to pull the door open.

A short, black-haired man stood on the other side, fist still positioned as if to knock again. He lowered it slowly, blinking up at Murdoc with a disinterested gaze before speaking.

“You Murdoc Niccals?” he rumbled, voice unfittingly deep.

“Yeah,” Murdoc confirmed suspiciously. “Who’s asking?”

“The name’s Rocky,” he grumbled, pushing his way in. “Listen, I’m here to audition for your band thing or whatever. Got a keyboard I can use?” Murdoc shook his head but gestured to the piano, eyeing Rocky up warily.

“No, but if you can play the piano well enough, I’ll consider you.” Rocky shrugged and hopped onto the stool, fingers positioned and ready.

“You got any preferences?” he asked, looking up at Murdoc neutrally. Murdoc shrugged and gestured for him to just go. He was tired, and he figured Rocky probably wasn’t that good, anyway. He sat back down on the couch, hand under his chin, and waited.

Rocky played an interesting compilation of songs, showing his ability to play a little jazz piano and a lot of new-age type of shit. He tried to play a few more hardcore songs, but they didn’t have the same effect on a piano, though they were still recognizable. All in all, Rocky was actually pretty good. When he finished, Murdoc pursed his lips and slowly nodded, hand rubbing his chin in thought.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he admitted. “Sounds good, actually. I think you’ll be great, so long as you show up to rehearsal and don’t start shit.” Rocky shrugged and nodded, standing up and walking over to Murdoc.

“I’ll show up,” he confirmed, bored gaze never faltering. “And I don’t care as long as we get shit done.”

“A man after my own heart,” Murdoc grinned, giving Rocky his cell number and explaining the current situation. “As soon as we find at least a singer and a drummer, we’ll be good to go.”

“I’ll try and find some people,” Rocky said before waving a lazy hand good-bye and walking out. Murdoc blinked, thinking that was one of the strangest exchanges he’d ever been involved in, then smiled again, his excitement over starting a band returning again.

Now, if he could just find more people like Rocky, he’d be golden.


	2. Some Things are Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only Fate weren't such a bitch.

He slammed the door in frustration as he jumped out of his car, his hand going up to run through his hair as he stared at the old thing one last time before he huffed and made his way to the music store’s entrance. He felt around his jeans, making sure he had his wallet, and with a mutter of confirmation, he stalked inside, the automatic doors swooshing open as he stepped through.

Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium was the nearest shop that sold good instruments, and judging from the various marvelous reviews he’d read about the store, it was the best place to look into for buying his new equipment. Murdoc had gone down there to browse for now, since he was in town visiting his parents and all, and he brought money just in case something caught his eye.

Currently, he was cursing Rocky’s name. He only just found out that Rocky owned a really crappy keyboard, which was the reason he hadn’t brought one to audition in the first place, and when he found out, Murdoc insisted on buying a new one for him lest that piece of crap break before their first rehearsal.

He looked around with a well-trained eye, moving slowly through the ranks of keyboards as he checked each one and ran his fingers through the keys occasionally, testing. He debated on what type to get, but just as he was finalizing his decisions, someone greeted him cheerily.

“Hello, sir! Do you need any help?” asked the employee. He was an admittedly pretty lad, his blue hair complimenting his blue eyes and pale complexion, though his teeth were as nice as Murdoc’s, which wasn’t a compliment. Still, they suited him, and his uniform didn’t look too bad either.

“Ah, yes…Stuart?” he said, reading the name tag hanging on the man’s chest. Stuart smiled, looking earnestly at Murdoc as he gestured for him to continue.

“I’m looking for a good keyboard, and I want to ask if you have any good recommendations,” Murdoc said, debating whether or not to ask the man about the synth problem before he realized that the employee probably knew more than he did. “And, I was wondering…would you mind explaining what kind of synth would be better?”

“Well, generally that depends on your player’s abilities,” Stuart began, rushing into a detailed explanation of the intricacies of synth and keyboard playing. Murdoc supplied him with enough information for Stuart to get the gist of what Murdoc’s keyboardist was capable of and began producing bouts of helpful recommendations.

“Of course, that all depends on you,” he said hesitantly, his voice trailing off as if he’d realized something. Murdoc eyed him, wondering what had happened.

“Is something wrong?” Murdoc asked, not wanting to seem too worried for the blue-haired employee. The man nodded nervously, a small smile playing on his lips as he began to recover himself.

“Yeah,” Stuart said, straightening himself when he realized he’d been hunching. “Sorry. I just thought you’d get angry if I kept going off, you know?” Puzzled, Murdoc asked him to explain, wondering why he would be angry when Stuart had been giving him fantastic advice.

“It’s just that, customers generally don’t like it when I talk about this stuff,” Stuart said, hand running through his hair. “Call me pretentious, say I don’t know what I’m talking about, and…stuff.”

“You seem to know quite a bit, though. Only a real pillock wouldn’t listen to you,” Murdoc commented, feeling somewhat sorry for the poor man.

“Well, thank you,” Stuart said, his voice growing steadier.

“How do you know so much, by the way? You a keyboard enthusiast?”

“Definitely, yes, but I also take courses. I’m doing voice training, too, and I’m using this job to help pay for all that.” Murdoc whistled, staring at Stuart appreciatively and with renewed interest.

“Would you mind demonstrating, then?” Murdoc asked, gesturing to one of the many keyboards grouped near them. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you sing and play a bit.” Stuart’s face grew red and he began muttering excuses, but Murdoc insisted, coaxing Stuart into playing one of the keyboards and singing along with the music.

“Do you know this one?” Stuart asked before beginning, voice gently warbling as his fingers danced expertly along the keys. Murdoc watched in amazement, his chin tucked between two fingers, as Stuart performed quietly for him. When Stuart finished, Murdoc slowly clapped his hands, his lips curving into a smile as he complimented the man’s abilities.

“Brilliant, mate,” Murdoc said, watching Stuart’s face shift happily. The man smiled warmly at Murdoc, glancing down shyly before looking back up at Murdoc with a strengthened resolve.

“Is it good enough to be in your band?” he suddenly asked, fingers twitching slightly in what Murdoc assumed was anxiety brought on by his boldness. “You didn’t mention having a singer, and I can play a few other things well enough, too.” Murdoc thought about it as he gazed at Stuart, circling him and examining the man with intense scrutiny. Finally, after a while, Murdoc looked up, a gleam in his eyes and a grin stretched across his lips.

“Good enough, I suppose,” he teased. “Right, you’ll do.” Stuart beamed at him, growing more animated and energetic as he and Murdoc began discussing details. It was a surreal experience, since Murdoc generally didn’t get along with others, but he found Stuart agreeable company, and the fact that he seemed to know his shit and took Murdoc’s suggestions seriously warmed him to the employee very quickly.

“My name is Murdoc Niccals, by the way. Don’t think I introduced myself yet,” Murdoc suddenly said, wondering how he’d had such a long conversation with the man before introducing himself.

“Ah, well, I’m Stuart as you know. Stuart Tusspot. But everyone calls me Stu-Pot, so you’re welcome to.” Murdoc snickered quietly to himself, wondering at the poor boy’s ability to live that name down. He tried not to let his amusement show for Stu’s sake.

“Well, Stu-Pot,” Murdoc began, snickering softly. “Let’s discuss more after I’ve bought the equipment, yeah? I need to get this stuff loaded onto my car.” Stu nodded and began pointing out the best things to buy, helping Murdoc decide on the right one before running into the back room to grab the various boxes of merchandise Murdoc wanted to purchase.

Murdoc was standing by the cashier when a strange light suddenly flooded into the building, almost blinding him. He squinted and looked out, his eyes trying to adjust to the brightness, before he realized that the light was growing bigger, and the sounds of an engine being pushed to its last legs began growing louder. Confused, he tried to shield his eyes and see what was going on.

A car was quickly speeding toward the glass windows making up the entrance of the shop, showing no indication of stopping. Murdoc stared in puzzlement before he realized that the car was too close, and he knew that it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

With a dawning horror, he realized that the person driving was attempting to crash into the store, and though he didn’t know why, he certainly knew that he had to get the hell out of there. He was rushing out of the way, clear on the other side of the store, when Stu suddenly popped back up, carrying too many boxes to see anything clearly.

“Murdoc?” he called, voice muffled. “You still here?”

“Stu-!” Murdoc shouted, but whatever he was going to say was lost to the sound of glass breaking and tires squealing to a halt. It was going far too quickly, though, and too aggressively, and Murdoc watched with horror as Stu stepped right into its path, not noticing the danger until it was too late.

The car rammed straight into him, sending him flying into a display case. The glass shattered, covering Stu’s body in a shower of glittering sparks, and punctured his skin, various cuts forming along his body. Stu groaned, a high wailing sound choking out of his mouth before silencing abruptly, and Murdoc felt a numbness begin sweeping over him as he rushed to Stu’s side to check the damage.

Some of Stu’s body parts seemed to be twisted at odd angles. Murdoc knew with certainty that his right arm and leg were broken, both having been directly hit by the car now billowing smoke behind them. Blood covered his body, flowing more freely from the awful lacerations crisscrossing along Stu’s face. His skin was already bruising in some places, turning a deep, awful purple, and Stu sat limply in the remains of the display case.

The minute rise and fall of Stu’s chest and his dangerously slow blinking were the only things assuring Murdoc that the man was alive, albeit barely. However, when he took a closer look at one of the eyes, he noticed a blackness begin to pool into it, enveloping the white utterly and devastatingly.

 _Hyphema_ , Murdoc thought, feeling a calm envelop him as he began to treat Stu to the best of his ability. Maybe an eight ball fracture, but…

He couldn’t worry about any of that now. He tried his best to stop any of the more serious cuts from bleeding,  praying to whatever higher beings were listening that Stuart wouldn’t bleed out before he could call for an ambulance. The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but a small choking sound cut him off, a trail of blood dribbling down Stuart’s lips. Murdoc grew tenser, wondering if Stuart’s mouth had simply been cut open or, and he prayed that wasn’t the case although he knew it was more probable, Stuart was suffering from internal bleeding.

With a strange calm he learned to adopt whenever he was in stressful situations, and utilizing the training he’d received as a nurse, Murdoc quickly called for an ambulance, all the while caring for Stuart as he continued to bleed profusely. When he ended the call, he noticed Stuart’s eyes slipping, his chest rising less frequently, and he quickly called for him to stay awake, loud enough that Stuart heard and reacted. Stuart sucked in a gasp with a harsh shudder, his eyes momentarily flying open before closing half-way tiredly.

Murdoc suddenly heard a round of cursing behind him, suddenly remembering the cause for Stuart’s injuries. He turned around angrily, ready to beat the person to a pulp, before he noticed who’d crashed into the store. His anger returned tenfold, growing stronger the longer he looked at the towering, frightened form of Butch. It was the last person Murdoc had ever expected to see again, and he was momentarily stunned as he watched the huge man quaking.

When he got over his confusion, Murdoc snarled, face contorting awfully as his displeasure was made known. He would’ve stood up had he not been busy taking care of Stuart; his condition was delicate, of course, and he didn’t want to risk Stuart’s life because of someone as disgusting as Butch.

“You,” he growled, momentarily too angry to say anything else before he continued. “You motherfucker.” Butch looked down at him, suddenly noticing who was taking care of the man he’d just run over, and his eyes visibly widened in fear.

“Murdoc!” he exclaimed, body shaking as he slid behind the car, putting distance between himself and the infuriated man. “Look, I didn’t mean to hit him-!”

“But you did, you fucking bastard!” Murdoc shouted, voice almost cracking from the strain. “You piece of fucking shit, disgusting waste of space, absolute buggering _idiot_! What in the fucking hell did you think you were doing?”

“I was trying to ram into the store so I could steal some synths-!”

“ _First of all_ ,” Murdoc interrupted, yells echoing around the store. “Why are you stealing synths? You have multiple, dumbass! What do you need another one for?”

“Listen, I broke them-!”

“Well that does it, doesn’t it?” Murdoc was ready to punch the bastard’s face in, but one glance at Stu revealed that he couldn’t leave him just yet. “Why did you think ramming the store would be a good idea, huh? You idiot, you probably didn’t even check if anyone was standing right in front of ya, did you? Gah!” A stream of creative insults and curses began flowing out of Murdoc’s mouth, tainting the air as Butch began shaking more violently.

“Now look at him!” Murdoc suddenly shouted, hands moving to rip a piece of fabric from his shirt to place atop the soaked piece that Murdoc held to Stuart’s head. “He’s on the verge of dyin’ because of you! When the police come, I swear to God-!”

“No!” Butch exclaimed, holding up his hands as if to placate Murdoc’s fury. “I ain’t gonna be arrested for murder!”

“It’s too late,” Murdoc explained, a vicious smile on his face. “I already called them, shitface, and I hope you get a life sentence for what you’ve done.”

“I ain’t gonna get arrested,” Butch repeated, baring his teeth as he gripped his hair. “I can’t. I won’t.” With that, he turned around and ran, speedily dodging the debris before hopping out of the gaping hole in the wall and dashing out. Murdoc watched him, mouth hanging open in disbelief, before a groan from Stuart brought his attention back to his unfortunate patient.

Stuart’s lips worked, twitching as the man attempted to make a sound, and Murdoc leaned in close just in case.

“What’s wrong, Stu?” he urged quietly, heart swelling with sadness as he watched the man struggle.

“I…” he breathed, words hanging in the air gently. “It…hurts. I don’t think…” Murdoc was about to say something encouraging when the sudden wail of a siren pierced the air, drawing closer quickly. Murdoc turned to see the emergency vehicle and some police cars stop just short of the broken glass, personnel hurriedly jumping out of the wagon with a stretcher.

They loaded Stuart onto it without hesitation and sped him off to the hospital, tires squealing as they hit the road. Police officers began flooding into the store, some making a beeline for Murdoc who stood silently, waiting for them to question him.

“What exactly happened here?” one of them began, the other taking out a notepad to write on. Murdoc explained as best as he could, noting the stunned faces of the officers as he relayed the sequence of events.

“You’re kidding?” one of them insisted, hand going up to clutch at his hat in exasperation. “Do you know the name of the man who rammed the shop?”

“Bruce Abbott, but most call him Butch.” The officers nodded, asking Murdoc to wait so they could take him to the station for further questioning. Murdoc agreed, although he asked to be notified of Stuart’s condition as soon as possible.

When the officers left to relay the information to their fellow partners, Murdoc breathed out silently, feeling tired and shaky after what had happened. He looked down at his hands, noting the blood splattered across them, but made no attempt to clean them, feeling very unsure and unsteady. He honestly couldn’t believe what had just happened, couldn’t believe someone had been so stupid as to do something like that, when he suddenly realized something.

It wasn’t a bad plan in and of itself. Had Butch not hit anyone, he would have easily been able to break in, steal the synths, and leave before anyone caught him. With a start, Murdoc realized that, had he been desperate and reckless enough, he might’ve done the same thing.

The thought made his breath quicken, his heart thumping harshly against his chest as he moved to sit down on the glass-littered floor. He didn’t care, ignoring the pain of shards digging into his skin as he tried to calm himself.

No, he wasn’t like Butch at all. He wasn’t. But the mere thought of his being insane enough to do the same thing as the awful man left him wondering. Had he not been taught to control himself, had his parents not raised him as compassionately and kindly as they had, he would’ve been the same, or worse. He could barely control himself now; imagine if he’d never learned to reign in his emotions so keenly. He would’ve been a monster.

The police came back a few seconds later, gesturing at toward their car for Murdoc to follow. The drive to the station was quiet, punctuated only by the static and bursts of sound emanating from the radio. Murdoc stared at his hands the entire time, rubbing off some of the red that stained them.

The questioning didn’t take long. They asked him to say everything he’d told the police again and sometimes asked for him to explain further, and when the interrogation was over they let him go.

“Oh,” one of the officers suddenly exclaimed, waving his hand to attract Murdoc’s attention. “You wanted to know about Mr. Tusspot, correct?” Murdoc nodded quickly, eyeing the officer anxiously as he waited for the man to explain.

“He’s got a few major lacerations, a few broken bones, and some head trauma, but it’s mild. They’re giving him a transfusion as we speak.” Murdoc breathed out in relief, ready to thank the man when he suddenly spoke up.

“If you’d like to visit him, though, you should know it’s only open to family and friends.”

“I’m his friend,” Murdoc said after a pause, hand lingering on the glass door as he debated whether or not to open it then. “He is going to be the singer in my band.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then do what you will. Good night and thank you for your cooperation.” Murdoc muttered a hasty good-bye and walked quickly out, hands stuffing themselves in his jeans pockets. He groaned as he realized that, though he had his keys, he’d left his car back at the shop, and he didn’t want to go near that place any time soon. He opted instead to walk home, knowing it would only take a few minutes, regardless.

He’d already cleaned himself up at the behest of the officers, who’d taken him to a bathroom at the station. His hands were clean but they felt tainted, heavy with the memory of pressed, ruined cloth and blood.

He shuddered a few times as he made his way into his home, trudging up the stairs tiredly as he entered the flat and sat wearily on the couch. The lights flickered on a few minutes later and Murdoc looked up to see his parents looking down at him with concern.

“Where’ve you been?” his father asked quietly, hands rubbing together. “You’re home late.”

“I…” he faltered, breathing in once before relaying what had happened to his parents. They looked appropriately stunned, his mother’s lips pursing and his father’s face turning as white as a sheet.

“Oh my God,” he muttered when Murdoc finished, hand pressed against his lips. “That’s just insane!”

“They haven’t caught that bastard, then?” his mother questioned, ignoring the looks she received for her slip.

“No,” Murdoc said, shaking his head before groaning and pressing his hands to his eyes. “I’m going to visit Stu tomorrow. I need to see how he is.” His parents nodded, leaving him alone and going back to their room while muttering about Murdoc’s story. When he heard their door click shut, Murdoc stood and walked somberly into his room, staring up at the posters once more.

He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep that night. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, leaving him confused and terrified. Above all, though, he was most concerned about Stuart’s well-being, and he didn’t even know why.

Sure, he’d been friendly with him right before the incident, but he hadn’t even known the man for long before he’d been rammed into. It wasn’t like they were the best of friends, or anything more than acquaintances. But remembering Stu’s eyes as he sat in the glass, one eye filling with black, black blood and the other blinking back in terror and confusion, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest, a revolting churning that left him almost breathless and eager to ascertain Stuart’s condition.

He sighed, knowing there was nothing for it, and rolled onto his side, adopting a fetal position as he tried to close his eyes and sleep. It wasn’t actually that hard considering how tired he just realized he was, and he allowed himself to be pulled into his dreams.

When he woke up the next morning, he was shaking, sweat pooled around his chest and forehead as his fingers twitched violently. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, only that it hadn’t been pleasant, and he sat up slowly, hand rubbing away the salty sweat gathered on his lips. He placed a cool hand against his forehead, trying to wipe away the vestiges of sweat, and shifted so his legs dangled over the edge of his bed.

After a while, when he felt steady enough to stand, he changed his clothes, went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and piss, and grabbed his wallet and keys. He groaned as he remembered that he’d left his car in the carpark, and with a sigh he set out to retrieve it before he stopped by the hospital to visit Stu.

His parents weren’t up yet, so he left them a note, and he was out the door in minutes. The walk was uneventful, and he made it to what was left of the shop quickly. His car was still there, still intact, and he unlocked it and slid inside slowly, not wanting to glance over at the wreckage. He could see a few people clearing up the area, and the car had been moved, but the hole was still there, a reminder of what happened the day before.

Someone shouted at him as he was about to put the car in drive, and he rolled down the window and peered out to see what they wanted. A plump man, whose face was red with anger and tears, waddled up, finger jabbing at Murdoc’s face.

“What do you think you’re doing, eh?” he reprimanded, lips thinning.

“Retrieving this piece of junk, mate. It’s my car,” Murdoc explained, trying not to lose his patience. “I left it here yesterday after _that_ happened.” He pointed vaguely to the hole in the wall, hand dropping as soon as the man realized what he meant.

“Oh,” the man sighed, his face contorting into one of defeat. “Are you Murdoc Niccals, then? The police told me about you when they explained what happened.”

“That’s right. And you are…?”

“The owner,” the man said. “Thaddeus Norm. Pleasure to meet you.” He held his hand out, and Murdoc reluctantly leaned out the window to shake it, quickly pulling back when he deemed it proper.

“I have to thank you for staying with Stuart when he’d been hit, too. He’s such a nice boy, on track to become regional manager at the rate he was going,” Norm muttered, looking extremely distressed. “Very good lad, yes. He’s not faring so well at the hospital.” Murdoc felt his blood run cold at the man’s words, but he kept his face carefully masked, a slight widening of the eyes the only indication of his curiosity and surprise.

“What happened to him?” he asked, dreading the worst.

“In a coma, they told me. They haven’t been able to wake him up after they put him under last night, and his brain activity is limited or some nonsense like that.” Murdoc soaked in the information, face twitching slightly, before he bid the man a hasty good-bye and rolled his window back up. He sped out of the car park, trying to remain calm as he weaved his way through traffic and finally made it to the hospital.

The woman at the counter glanced at him before looking back up and focusing on Murdoc, eyes puzzled and slightly afraid. Murdoc didn’t care, simply huffed out a demand to see Stuart. The woman quickly complied, no doubt scared of Murdoc’s half-crazed appearance, and gave him the room number. Murdoc nodded and all but ran to the room, dodging carts and hospital personnel with ease.

When he made it to the room, he stood there for a moment, hand hovering over the doorknob as he debated actually going inside. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to confirm what Norm had told him, didn’t know if he could bear seeing the poor man lying there dead to the world, but in the end, he decided to go in.

Murdoc pushed the door open and walked in, taking in the drab white and grey of the hospital room and the single bed lying in the center of the room, where Stuart was. He had a blanket tugged up to his chin, which rose and fell minutely as the man breathed. His face was an ugly conglomeration of stitches and bruises, and his eyes were closed, purple shading the lids and recesses of them. The skin that wasn’t broken or bruised was almost as white as the sheet that covered Stuart, and Murdoc had to stop himself from reaching out and touching the pale flesh.

Apart from the shallow rising of his chest, the man was still, and Murdoc couldn’t contain the shiver that ran through him as he remembered the huge amount of blood that had poured out of the man’s thin body. How was he still alive, really? It was a miracle that he wasn’t dead, although the coma was a near thing, he supposed.

“Who might you be?” someone suddenly asked, and Murdoc turned to see a woman who glanced between Stuart and Murdoc questioningly.

“Murdoc Niccals,” Murdoc said as he gazed at the woman, wondering why she looked familiar. “I was there when Stuart, well…when he got run down.”

“Oh,” she said, her red lips turning into a perfect circle. She hesitated before sitting down, her wide girth just barely fitting in the chair.

“I’m his mother,” she said, folding her hands gently on her lap. “I heard about you. You stayed and helped my son, didn’t you?”

“Well, Mrs. Tusspot,” Murdoc sighed, glancing over at Stuart’s still form. “I dunno how much help I really provided. Still, the medical training came in handy. He would’ve died otherwise.”

“You’re a doctor?” she asked, surprise. Murdoc frowned, wondering about her confused expression.

“A nurse, actually. And thank God I am, for Stu’s sake.” He plopped down on the chair opposite Stuart’s mother, watching her as she calmly attempted to digest the information. She was obviously still shaken and upset about the incident, and the fact that her son wasn’t waking up must have been hard for her. Though she was older and bigger, she looked a lot like her son. They had the same eyes, the same nose shape and curve of the lips. Her fingers were as long and thin as his, which Murdoc found strange.

“Is it true?” Murdoc suddenly asked, looking the woman dead in the eyes. “Is he in a coma?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment, looking very fragile. “The doctors told me he was unresponsive to all stimuli. But…he could spring out after a few days like last time, and I hope he does.”

“Last time? He was in a coma before?”

“Yes, when he was about ten, eleven. Fell right out of a tree,” she said, looking at her child forlornly. “His hair fell out and came back blue after that, and we still don’t know why, but it suits him. He likes it, at least. Anyway, I took care of him while he was in the hospital-since I am a nurse, too, dear-and he woke up three days later. Gets plenty of headaches now, and he’s not as bright as he used to be, but he was fine.” Her bottom lip quivered, her voice cracking as she said the last bit, and Murdoc watched as she tried to calm herself.

Murdoc didn’t want to say what he was thinking out loud, knowing that the woman, as a medical professional, probably knew, too. He knew that, if Stuart were to wake up at all, he probably wouldn’t be the same, not after already having suffered head trauma like that before. It pained him, but he knew there was nothing for it, and so did she. All they could do was hope and wait.

They stayed silent after that exchange, watching Stuart as he breathed gently and did nothing else. Murdoc couldn’t say he was bored, exactly, but simply tired, but he stayed longer than Mrs. Tusspot, who excused herself after an hour or two and never came back.

“Your mother isn’t so bad,” Murdoc told Stuart, judging to see if Stuart responded though he knew he wouldn’t. “A little flighty, maybe. She really likes to wring her hands, though.” Stuart simply breathed in response.

“I really hope you wake up before they have to transfer you to a facility,” Murdoc confided, reaching over to brush Stuart’s hair out of his face. “Nasty places, I’ll admit. Don’t like them much, and they always smell like piss and antiseptic.”

“Maybe I could convince the doctors to let me take care of you if it comes to that,” Murdoc said jokingly, knowing it would be a battle simply stating the idea. “Would you like that, Stu?” Stuart’s face suddenly twitched, and Murdoc didn’t dare breathe as he gazed at Stuart for any sign of response. Stuart’s lips curved up slightly, a small but present smile on his face, before they drooped and assumed their neutral, slightly open position. Murdoc felt a grin etch itself across his face as he knew Stuart wasn’t too far-gone. The sign of response was a positive one and at that point, Murdoc would take it.

The sounds of someone shuffling behind him gained Murdoc’s attention suddenly, and he turned to see the doctor walking in, messily writing on a clipboard in his hands. After a minute, the doctor paused and looked up, noticing Murdoc’s presence.

“Well, hello,” the man greeted, hand extended. “Are you a friend of his?”

“You could say that, I suppose,” Murdoc said, lips pursing. “I was there when he got hit.”

“Ah, so you’re Nurse Niccals,” the doctor said with a note of understanding, and lowering as he turned his full attention to Murdoc. “You saved this boy’s life, you know.”

“Yeah,” Murdoc agreed, seeing no sense in remaining humble since it was true. “I did. The bastard that ran him down woulda left him there to rot.”

“I have no doubt from what I’ve been told,” the doctor agreed, moving over to check for any signs of improvement in Stuart’s condition.

“He’s capable of some involuntary muscle movement,” Murdoc chimed in, watching the doctor as he worked.

“Really?” the doctor said with a hint of surprise, quickly jotting something down on his clipboard. “Anything else?”

“Not much.” The doctor hummed as he continued his examination, and Murdoc noted that he avoided opening the eye that had turned completely black. There was no sense in it, of course. He couldn’t exactly check for pupil dilation or contraction.

The doctor reported his findings to Murdoc, who nodded solemnly as the man confirmed the severity of Stuart’s condition.

“If I’m being honest, I’m not sure Stuart will be able to wake up,” the doctor confided, looking down at the comatose man with something resembling pity. “His condition is extremely delicate, even though he can at least breathe on his own. But he’s had severe head trauma before, and if he does wake up, well-”

“I know,” Murdoc interrupted, hand held out as if to stop the doctor.

“Right.” The doctor wrote a few more things down before dismissing himself absentmindedly, hurrying off to see other patients. Murdoc remained with Stuart for a few more hours before finally sighing and standing up, brushing his shirt down as he reached into his pocket to grab his car keys.

With one last look at Stuart, Murdoc walked out, walking quietly out of the hospital and into his car. He sat in the carpark for a while, unsure of what he was feeling, before finally driving back to his parents’ flat and letting himself in.

It wasn't terribly late yet. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, so he resolved to make himself a sandwich and abate the awful churning in his stomach.

The entire time, Murdoc couldn’t help but worry for Stuart, and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like _he_ was the one that ran him down, and he’d only met the man once. True, they had gotten along well enough, and Murdoc had been looking forward to hearing that man sing in his band, but other than that, he held no true connection to Stuart.

So why did he feel so awful? Murdoc didn’t know the answer, and the more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. He finished his sandwich bitterly and searched the flat for his parents, finding them in their bedroom reading quietly.

“I’m gonna head out now, alright?” Murdoc said as he leaned in from the doorway, his parents looking up at him with concern and nodding their acknowledgement.

“Is that Stuart boy alright?” his mother asked, face pinched and worried. “How is he?”

“In a coma,” Murdoc said simply, and his parents looked at him sadly.

“I suppose there’s nothing for it,” his father said grudgingly, shaking his head as if he didn’t believe what he’d stated.

“Are you going to visit him?” his mother questioned, and Murdoc cursed her uncanny ability to read him like the book in her hands.

“Maybe,” he agreed grudgingly, and his parents gave him knowing looks.

“Take care then, Murdoc,” his father said, shuffling over to give his son a hug as Murdoc’s mother did the same.

“Be safe,” she said, and Murdoc nodded before closing the door and leaving.

As he drove back home, his thoughts wandered again, always coming back to Stuart. He tried thinking of something, anything else, but the image of Stuart lying quietly in the hospital bed, of his eyes slowly pooling black, of the blood pouring out of his body as Murdoc tried to stopper it, kept coming back, haunting him.

And those blasted feelings. They wouldn’t leave him alone, even after he’d gotten back home and lain in his bed, attempting to rest before work the next day. Finally, around one in the morning and after a few swigs of rum, Murdoc became tired enough to fall asleep. Even when he finally slipped into his dreams, though, all he could see was white, a halo of blue surrounding the pale skin of a person lying silently in a sterile bed while an incessant beeping hummed in the background.

He woke up that morning much like the day previous, but with tears crowding at the corners of his eyes. With surprise, he wiped at them, staring down at the moisture on his fingers in awe. He hadn’t cried in years, especially not over another person. Especially not over someone he barely knew, and especially not because they were in a bad way, medically speaking. He was a fucking nurse; he’d seen worse. He’d treated worse. Gashes so thick they went down to the bone, blood pumping out of every orifice, skin marred with sores that oozed yellow and green puss.

He’d been through worse. So then why was he so upset?

 

***

 

“Ah, Stu,” Murdoc sighed fondly, gently pushing away the strands of hair that seemed hellbent on crowding around Stuart’s nose and mouth.

Stuart’s condition hadn’t changed in months. Murdoc had come almost every day hoping, however minutely, that Stuart would be awake, sitting up in bed or at least moving, maybe speaking. He couldn’t help the disappointment that filled him when, each day, that wasn’t the case.

The doctor had never been hopeful concerning Stuart’s condition, so he took the situation in stride. Murdoc tried, but the controlled apathy developed from years in the medical field seemed to desert him every time he so much as thought of Stuart. It was both annoying and worrying, but he couldn’t control his feelings, so he didn’t, opting to fall prey to them and giving in to his nagging want to see Stuart as much as possible.

That day had been a particularly bad one at work, too. Everything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong, and by the end of it Murdoc had been exhausted, having needed to fix a majority of the problems that developed. Seeing Stuart was like a balm, and he went more eagerly than usual to see him, which was saying quite a bit.

So he sat there, staring at the man as though waiting for something to happen but knowing nothing would.

The doctor suddenly walked in a few minutes later, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard to see who was there before addressing Murdoc.

“He’s going to be relocated soon,” he said, getting straight to the point. “If you want, I can give you the name of the facility he’ll be moving to.” Murdoc pursed his lips, having expected the move but not so soon. He knew that Stuart’s mother, though a nurse, wouldn’t be able to care for him, mainly because she and her husband had gone on an extended vacation to “find themselves” about a month or two after Stuart fell into the coma. The only option Stuart had was to be transferred to a facility, and he shuddered at the thought.

Well, it wasn’t the only option. Murdoc hesitated in voicing his thoughts out loud, but when the doctor finally looked at him when he didn’t answer for a while, he steeled himself and addressed the man.

“Is it possible I could care for him?” he asked, staring the doctor straight in the eye as a show of resolve. “You know I’m qualified, and I can take care of him better than most.” The doctor seemed to think about it, no doubt wondering how much work it would involve signing off custody to someone who wasn’t even kin, but then he sighed, defeated.

“You’re a diligent man, Mr. Niccals,” the doctor admitted, tapping his pen on the clipboard. “If I could trust anyone to care for Stuart, it would be you. I think I trust you even more than his mother, if I’m being honest. I’ll get started on giving you custody.” Murdoc sat silently for a moment, stunned, before breaking into a large smile that even had the doctor grinning. He stood up and shook the man’s hand, face eager and earnest.

“Thank you so much,” Murdoc told him before bending down to speak into Stuart’s ear. “You’re comin’ with me, mate.” The doctor left rather loudly as Murdoc continued to tell Stuart about the exciting things he wanted to do with him, even if the man was comatose.

“I know you can hear me, you bastard,” Murdoc gruffed happily, gently messing with Stuart’s hair. “So let me make this clear. I’m gonna make you the happiest coma patient to ever live.” He didn’t care how stupid it sounded. He just wanted Stuart to feel safe and happy, even if he was basically trapped by the limits of his body. As if by some miracle, Stuart’s lips slowly twitched up like they had once before, a gentle, unmistakable curling of the mouth that had Murdoc whooping in excitement.

Murdoc wasn’t sure what he began rambling about, but he spoke happily to Stuart and watched in awe as the gentle smile remained in place for a while before drooping back neutrally. Murdoc sighed in contentment, already making plans as to the new living arrangements. He knew he had to get a few things ready before Stuart would be able to move in safely.

“I tell you what, though,” Murdoc suddenly said, absentmindedly petting Stuart’s long, grown out hair. “I’m not gonna enjoy changin’ ya.” He never really got used to cleaning out someone else’s waste, but putting a pretense was not too difficult. There had been a few times where he had to step out and avoid making the mess worse, though, so he hoped his disgust wouldn’t grow too overbearing.

Murdoc left about an hour later, a strange happiness curling in his stomach that left him more confused than anything. Again, he wondered why the thought of taking care of Stuart made him so giddy. It wasn’t an easy job, nor was it entertaining. The only thing to be gained was an addition to his already small household. And yet…

He couldn’t shake it off. The satisfaction and relief and giddiness and whatever else kept coming back, assaulting his innards ravenously, and he didn’t know if he wanted it to stop, anyway. He hadn’t felt so good in years, and the only time he ever came close was when Rocky had shown up to audition for his band.

He wondered briefly what Rocky was up to. A few days after the incident, Murdoc had called Rocky to let him know that he wouldn’t be able to start the band after all, and Rocky had been fine with it considering the circumstances. He’d said he would make do, but what exactly that meant baffled Murdoc. He’d probably gone on to join another, more successful band, which Murdoc couldn’t find any fault in. It was what he would do if he were in Rocky’s shoes.

Regardless, it didn’t matter anymore. All he wanted to focus on was preparing his home to receive his new guest.

He set to work immediately, almost jumping out of his car when he got back and into his flat. He looked around, wondering what to change first, before remembering that his priority was finding a place for Stuart to sleep in. The flat only had one room, and the living room was too small to fit a comfortably sized bed that wouldn’t get in the way, so he figured Stuart would sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but it would have to do for now, at least until he found another flat that he could afford that had two rooms.

The next thing he had planned was to make room for Stuart’s things; obviously, if Stuart would be living with him, he needed to get all of his clothes and necessities, and he quite frankly didn’t know if he had room for that, either. He began shoving his things out of the way, opening up space in his closet and making room in the drawer in his room. When he finished, he migrated to the living room, pen and paper in hand to write down the things he needed to buy for Stuart.

As soon as he finished, he jogged back outside and headed to the market, buying everything with due speed and quickly returning home to sort everything out.

With everything in place, Murdoc sighed tiredly, flopping onto the couch.

God, he thought, messing with his hair and closing his eyes. It was actually happening. With a great excitement, he smiled to himself and waited.

 

***

 

“Fantastic, isn’t it?” Murdoc smiled as he carefully strapped Stuart into the car, ensuring that he was secure before folding his wheel-chair and pushing it into the backseat. “Means a lot to me, too, but to tell you the truth I don’t know why.” Humming, Murdoc slid into the driver’s seat, taking time to lean over and grin at Stuart’s relaxed face.

“I promise I won’t hurt you, though. Not like that idiot, Butch.” He gritted his teeth at the name, remembering the visit he had with Butch only a few weeks ago.

The detective inspector had called Murdoc to tell him that Butch had been apprehended, as Murdoc had requested, and he’d gone down to see the man himself.

Butch looked like a sorry piece of work, his eyes swollen from crying and lip bloody from having bitten too much of it off. When he saw Murdoc, he attempted a half-hearted glare, but it soon gave way to trembling lips and a small trickle of tears.

Murdoc didn’t know if he should laugh or scowl, but one look at the sobbing sod left him frowning deeply at the man.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Murdoc had asked after a while, watching Butch with calculating eyes. Butch began crying in earnest, fat tears running down his face as he attempted to choke down his sobs. He didn’t look so intimidating and big now, what with his face covered in snot and his huge form folded in on itself childishly.

“He’s in a fucking coma, now,” Murdoc told him, “because you were an idiot.”

“What?” Butch managed to choke out, looking up questioningly. “Who is?”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Murdoc growled, eyes narrowing and teeth barring threateningly. “Stuart Tusspot? The poor bastard you ran over? He’s in a coma.”

“Who gives a damn?” the man cried, trembling again. “I’m stuck in here because of him! He should’ve gotten out of the way!” For one long moment, Murdoc stared at Butch speechlessly. Butch’s words hung in the air like bricks, and when Murdoc fully processed what he’d said, it was like they’d crashed to the floor.

“Who gives a damn?” he asked quietly, before his voice grew louder and more furious. “Who gives a damn? His fucking mother! His father! _Me_! Why don’t _you_ give a damn? You nearly killed him! He’s good as dead now, anyway!”

“He got in the way-!”

“ _You were ramming a fucking store, you utter piece of shit_ ,” Murdoc screamed, startling the officers and workers around him. “ _Did you not think people-innocent people-would be inside of it_?” Butch just glared and wept bitterly, moaning over his sentence and essentially lost life. Murdoc wanted nothing more than to strangle him, but seeing as the man sat on the other side of a glass window, he couldn’t exactly touch him.

With a bitter sneer, Murdoc left the weeping Butch behind, flipping him off as he marched outside and went back home.

It was perhaps this event, Murdoc thought as he drove home and stole glances at his passenger, that steeled Murdoc’s resolve to care for Stuart. Not that he’d experienced any doubts, but it helped Murdoc sort his feelings and finally answered some questions of his own. Like why he worried about Stuart so much.

It was probably a conglomeration of professional and personal interest that steered him on, his training as a nurse and his own strong empathy blurring together, tied by the bonds of the traumatic, insane event that catalyzed the whole affair. Butch, he realized, had been the cause of what had happened, and the fact that Butch felt no remorse for his actions only furthered Murdoc’s want to care for Stuart. That, and his mother had basically abandoned him, too tied up in her own feelings to stay. She had no reason to stay, of course; Stuart was still comatose, and there was only the slightest possibility that he would wake up again, if that. And unlike Murdoc, she had no qualms about putting Stuart in another care facility.

Murdoc breathed slowly when he arrived at his apartment, letting the car idle for a few minutes before taking the keys out of the ignition and exiting the car. He opened the passenger’s door, and with a grunt he lifted the bony Stuart into his arms and kicked the door closed before marching upstairs.

He struggle with the lock before managing to push his door open, still cradling Stuart in his arms and depositing him on the bed when he entered the bedroom. Stuart lay crumpled on the sheets, his limbs twisted together before Murdoc straightened them out and draped a blanket over the man’s chilly frame. It was a cold day, and if he let Stuart get too cold it would only end badly.

Murdoc blinked down at him before running back down to grab Stuart’s things, which he’d gotten from Stuart’s mum’s house after she gave him permission to get them. It was a small box filled mainly with clothes, most of them T-shirts and jeans, and some small baubles, a few things Stuart seemed to cherish more than others according to his mother. He’d also brought Stuart’s keyboard, which sat in the boot next to the box of things.

Murdoc managed to stack everything together and bring it all upstairs, sorting it out quickly. He placed Stuart’s clothes in the closet and dresser, set Stuart’s things down on the nightstand in the bedroom, and set up the keyboard next to an outlet in the living room.

As he arranged everything, he couldn’t help but feel…different. The move seemed to solidify something he couldn’t quite make out, and he felt a strange sense of foreboding. Like something was going to happen. Something big.

In the end, he shook himself out of it, checking once more to see if he left anything in his car before going to see if Stuart was okay. The man lay silently on the bed, not having moved whatsoever, but his eyes seemed to be slightly open. Murdoc stared unabashedly, leaning closer to see if he was just imagining it. His eyes were indeed half-way parted, one white and one black, and Murdoc felt as if butterflies had taken residence in his stomach. The strange feeling flooded through him again, this time accompanied by an unmistakable sense of happiness, and he quietly touched Stuart’s hand.

“Stu? You awake yet?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He didn’t receive one.

Murdoc chuckled and stepped out, closing the door behind him before laying down on the couch and grabbing the blanket he’d set next to it, pulling the thing up to his chin. It was a while before he slept, most of the night spent staring at the ceiling instead, but he finally managed it.

His dreams were not vivid. They never really were. At most, he could claim they were interesting, but they maintained a murky quality that he’d never broken through. However, from what he could make out, they consisted of him and Stuart sitting somewhere bright yet dirty, the surroundings lacking enough clarity to pick out details.

They were talking about something, although he couldn’t quite remember what, and Murdoc held something long and red in his hands. Stuart touched something that seemed like a melodica, his long fingers pressing down on what Murdoc assumed were keys.

The strangest thing, though, was that behind them, two other people sat. Like the rest of the dream, they were blurry, but he could just make out the structure of a thin child and a huge black man, each holding something in their hands and speaking to each other reservedly.

Murdoc awoke a little after he noticed the other two people in his dream, the grating sound of his alarm buzzing in the air as he sat up quietly and glanced around. Having been jolted from his dream, it seemed to blur even more, until he couldn’t really remember what it was about. Shrugging silently, he readied himself, taking care to clean Stuart up and ready him, as well.

Since Stuart couldn’t exactly stay home alone, Murdoc opted to take him to work, so when he finished his morning rituals, he dragged Stuart out and buckled him in the car.

“There ya go, Stuart,” he said, patting the man’s chest before jumping into the driver’s seat. The ride to the facility wasn’t terribly long, but traffic was always hellish, so he had to weave between the people to get to his workplace on time.

He parked in the staff lot and rummaged through the back and unfolded the wheelchair, carefully placing Stuart in it and tucking a blanket around the man’s legs. After locking his car, he strolled through the lot and into the building, steeling himself for the inevitable staring that would take place.

His coworkers, as he had predicted, stared openly at Murdoc and his blue-haired companion, no doubt wondering why he’d brought him and why the man was in a wheelchair in the first place. Murdoc paid them no mind, and he’d already cleared his bringing Stuart with his superiors, so he was doing nothing wrong. He slowly wheeled Stuart to his station, set the man in a corner where he wouldn’t disturb anyone else, and prepared his things for the day.

His co-workers’ stares were growing more irritating as the day went on. They seemed to intensify, their curiosity becoming so overwhelming that it bled into their staring and Murdoc felt it keenly. He gritted his teeth, shuffling his papers and glancing over to make sure Stuart was still okay, meanwhile ignoring everyone else.

“Afternoon, Murdoc,” someone greeted, and Murdoc groaned as he looked up and saw one of his peers blinking curiously at him and Stuart. Murdoc waved disinterestedly and pretended to look busy, hoping the man would get the hint and leave.

“You busy?” they asked, not seeming to care whether the answer was in the affirmative or not. “It’s been very lax as of late.”

“Maybe for you,” Murdoc grumbled back, staring the man dead in the eyes. “You never do anything, Alfred.” He didn’t even look offended, mainly because it was true and Alfred knew it. It didn’t stop him from plowing on, either.

“So…who’s that?” he asked, pointing at Stuart. “Hasn’t woken up the entire time he’s been here. Is he even alive?” Murdoc rolled his eyes, wondering how the man hadn’t understood what was going on yet.

“He’s comatose,” Murdoc grouched, his long tongue lolling out due to irritation. Alfred stared at it as Murdoc carefully rolled it back inside his mouth, making a show in an attempt to scare the man into leaving. Alfred remained firm, however, in his need to gossip, and he continued his questioning.

“How come? And why did you bring him?”

“Car accident,” Murdoc answered vaguely, cheering internally when it worked. “And that’s none of your business. In fact, nothing you just asked _was_.” Alfred looked properly admonished for a second before becoming offended and rolling his eyes, storming off. It was all for show, though; Murdoc knew that he would go back to the others and tell them everything Murdoc had said.

The day finished anticlimactically, his co-workers finally leaving him alone toward the end of his shift. He put everything in its proper place and rolled Stuart out of the building, thinking about showering the man when they got back to his flat.

A few weeks passed in a similar fashion. Murdoc took Stuart to work every time he had to go, and no one bothered Murdoc much about it after a while, although they managed to squeeze Stuart’s name out of Murdoc on one occasion. After that, Stuart became something of an office pet, his co-workers ensuring that Stuart was cared for when Murdoc was otherwise too occupied to do so. They made sure Stuart wasn’t too cold or too hot, made sure he stayed hydrated, and kept an eye on him to ensure no one else messed with him. Sometimes, they even changed his nappies for Murdoc, which he was grateful for but never thanked anyone about.

Slowly, Murdoc adjusted to the additions in his flat, and he felt less alone than he usually did. Stuart, though he couldn’t express himself, provided the sort of company Murdoc often sought. There was no pressure to impress, to keep a conversation going and entertain the other. Murdoc could speak as freely to Stuart as he wanted with no repercussions, no sense of obligation to hold a conversation he didn’t care for. It felt nice for once, to be able to speak to someone without the anxiety of _speaking_ to someone, and he rather liked it.

He was enjoying himself, actually. It felt nice to have some sort of companionship, too.

He felt less lonely.


	3. The Tipping Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only they could start.

One morning, Murdoc woke up feeling angrier than usual. Maybe strange was the better word. He felt a sense of wrongness building up in his stomach, one he couldn’t shake, and he sat up slowly, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. After a moment, he grabbed his phone and checked the time, noting the date, as well.

Something seemed off about it, as if he didn’t like the date, and for a moment he stared at his phone, puzzled.

Then it clicked.

It was the same day Stuart had been run over a year ago. The anniversary of his comatose state. Murdoc groaned and sighed, still staring at the date as if it would bite him. He wondered if that was why he felt so bitter, so weird, and figured it must be why. There was no other explanation.

He readied himself like always, then readied Stuart, and tried his hardest to bury his uneasiness as he carried Stuart out and into the car. He deposited him in the seat before remembering that he left his keys upstairs. He went to retrieve them, making sure to lock his door in the process, and rushed outside, not wanting to be late.

He started the car and sped off, growing tenser as time passed. He glanced at Stuart, still feeling as though he was missing something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He tried letting it go, but it burned, setting his nerves alight as he drove.

Murdoc was almost at the carpark, waiting for the light to turn green so he could make his turn and drive in. He tapped the wheel impatiently, foot ready to accelerate, and the light flashed a few moments later. Murdoc immediately sped forward, not noticing the car passing the red light and heading straight for him until it was too late.

Murdoc saw him in time and spun, forcing the wheel to one side and pressing on the brake in order to swerve out of the way. As he jerked, his heart pounding against his chest like mad and his breath coming in strange gasps as his body pushed into the seatbelt, he turned to make sure Stuart was fine.

Then he noticed Stuart didn’t have his seatbelt on. It was as if the world slowed; Murdoc felt his breath stop and his blood chill as Stuart flew forward, crashing through the windscreen and face planting into the curb with a sickening crunch that seemed to echo. Murdoc stared for one silent minute, the burning scent of rubber invading his nostrils and black smoke obscuring his vision, before unlatching his seat belt clumsily and tripping out of the car, straight for Stuart.

He reached out, aiming to turn Stuart to see if he was alright, when Stuart suddenly moaned and trembled, limbs twitching as he groaned into the pavement. Murdoc watched in awe as the man, with a fair amount of trouble, positioned his arms shakily underneath him and pushed himself up, standing unsteadily. He swayed, and Murdoc rushed forward to catch him before he dipped forward as Stuart strained to use his weak limbs.

Stuart clung to him weakly, arms clutching Murdoc’s scrubs, and continued groaning, before his voice became gargled. He suddenly spit, and blood accompanied by two teeth shot to the floor in front of them. Murdoc let his gaze sweep over the bloody mess before repositioning his hands, his left still holding Stuart’s body upright as his right gently cupped Stuart’s face.

Blood coated Stuart’s forehead and mouth, leaking down between the crevices of Murdoc’s fingers and onto the cement. His lips were slightly parted, revealing the red gums and gaping holes where his two front teeth had been. His one good eye was beginning to pool black, the scene sickeningly reminiscent of the injury to the other one.

As the white of his eye and the blue iris began disappearing, Stuart stared dumbfounded at Murdoc, a confusion marking his face with worried lines and a deep frown. He struggled to speak, and he worked his jaw for a few moments before giving up and resting almost completely on Murdoc.

They stayed clutching each other in the middle of the pavement for a while, Murdoc still in disbelief and Stuart in confused pain as people gathered around them, asking if Stuart was okay. Murdoc waved them off, taking care to ensure Stuart didn’t slip forward.

After a minute, Murdoc began moving, first checking Stuart’s injury and assessing the damage. It wasn’t as bad as the first time, but his skin had broken along his forehead, some of it burned from having slid along the pavement. Obviously, his teeth had been knocked out, and his other eye had developed the same fracture, now completely black and sunken.

Murdoc carefully, with some warning, picked Stuart up and carried the perplexed man over to the facility, rushing inside and trembling from the weight in his arms and the adrenaline coursing through his body due to fear. His co-workers stared in shock as he ran inside, yelling for them to call for assistance and immediate medical attention. They sprang into action, each rapidly preparing the necessary things for emergency operations.

Stuart moaned into his chest, huge hands gripping Murdoc’s scrubs more tightly, and his head continued to bleed with a rushing force. Murdoc’s clothes and hands were full of drying, slippery blood, but he paid no mind to it. His eyes were for Stuart only, and he couldn’t look away from the broken blackness of the man’s eyes, of the gaping hole Stuart’s tongue occasionally lolled through, and the ruptured skin decorating his forehead, in almost the exact same place the first laceration had been in.  

It was rather surreal, he thought, when they finally carted Stuart off into the emergency room to quickly stitch his skin back together and give him a transfusion. He felt as he had earlier in the morning, that strange sense of wrongness that had invaded his waking thoughts coming back with a force that almost knocked him over. He felt sick, but he hid it well, opting to lean gently on the counter and breathe in slowly.

His co-workers politely left him alone, no doubt deciding a later time to hound Murdoc about what happened to Stuart, and he appreciated the sentiment. He didn’t want to speak to anyone, didn’t even want to look at them for too long, and he was left waiting for news about Stuart’s condition.

Hours passed, but he heard nothing from the other medical staff about Stuart. He was beginning to get extremely nervous when, in a calmness Murdoc knew all too well, one of the emergency staff walked to his desk and waved for his attention. Murdoc looked up, a question in the rise of his eyebrow, and the woman nodded once, curtly.

“He’s fine,” she said, but maintained her somber attitude. “A little banged up, but fine. And he’s awake.” Murdoc stared, processing the information, before grinning widely and standing.

“Can I see him?” he asked, and she nodded her assent before telling him the room number and walking off. He hurriedly made his way over, his hands balled into fists at his sides from a mixture of nervousness and excitement. He took care not to simply burst into the room, though, and walked in calmly, schooling his expression in case Stuart felt overwhelmed.

With a gentleness he wasn’t exactly known for, Murdoc pulled back the curtain and let himself in, watching Stuart carefully. He was awake, as the woman had said, when he heard Murdoc come in his head bobbed up to face the sound. His newly damaged eye was covered, but the other one had been left alone, and his black eye sent chills down Murdoc’s spine as it faced him. It was disconcerting, but there was nothing for it.

“Murdoc?” Stuart suddenly lisped, voice raspy from disuse and muddled by his missing teeth. “Where am I? They wouldn’t, uh, wouldn’t tell me…” Murdoc felt his heart stutter at the brokenness, the confusion, coloring Stuart’s voice. He sounded lost and frightened, no doubt wondering what happened that had landed him in the hospital, and probably unaware of the events that had led up to the moment.

More serious perhaps was the fact that he sounded incredibly out of it, and Murdoc prayed it had more to do with having woken up after a year or the recent traumatic incident than any lasting damage, but he wasn’t particularly hopeful. At least he remembered Murdoc.

“Well, you’re in the hospital, Stu,” Murdoc began, pausing and bringing a chair to sit next to Stuart. He hoped he didn’t look too frightful, since he hadn’t bothered to change yet and crusted blood still covered his scrubs; it was unsanitary, really, and he’d probably get hell for it later, but he couldn’t care less.

“Well, yes, I gathered,” Stuart mumbled, head turning to drink in his surroundings. “But where, exactly? My mum isn’t here, and she’s a nurse at the hospital close to where I live. No one here’s heard of her, though.” Murdoc was silent, assessing, before asking a question of his own.

“Stuart, how much do you remember?” The man seemed confused, but he thought of Murdoc’s question and attempted to compose an answer.

“I remember a bright light and some pain, but not much after. I think you were with me, though. I thought…I thought I was dreamin’, and I’d hear these voices speaking all the time, talking nonsense about me being in a coma or what not. I heard your voice a lot, actually,” he admitted, looking up to face Murdoc earnestly. “Yours is the one I remember the most. In my dreams, you always talked to me about things. Don’t remember much of it, though.” Murdoc took in a deep breath, feeling guilty, before clasping his hands in front of him and meeting Stuart’s eye.

“Weren’t dreams, mate,” Murdoc told him, ignoring Stuart’s sudden perplexity and plowing on. “You’ve been in a coma for a year.” And as Murdoc explained, Stuart listened raptly, his face growing more and more despondent as Murdoc relayed everything that had happened.

“And like an idiot, I forgot to strap you in. You went flying through the windscreen and into the pavement. It woke you up, though, so I’m not too hankered over it,” Murdoc finished, feeling the sadness in his stomach growing as Stuart’s lip wobbled. “At least you’re awake, yeah?”

“I don’t…” he choked, voice still rusty and slurred. “I don’t understand.” Murdoc’s heart sunk as he realized that Stuart had indeed felt the effects of his previous state keenly. His mind was damaged, more so now with the recent head trauma, and he worried over Stuart’s well-being. The poor man was scared, attempting to hold back the tears that Murdoc saw glistening in the hollows of his eye, and he could do nothing to help him save provide some comfort and a place to stay.

“You don’t have to right now, Stu,” Murdoc reassured, placing a hand atop Stuart’s and squeezing. Stuart, as if on reflex, curled his fingers to intertwine with Murdoc’s and gripped tightly, his lips slightly parted in apprehension.

“Why is it so hard to see?” he suddenly asked, squinting comically. “Everything looks darker and muddier.”

“Eight-ball fracture,” Murdoc explained. “In both eyes, actually. Got two dents in your head, now, but they don’t look so bad. They suit you.”

“Two dents,” Stuart repeated, mouth working the words over and over again.

“That’s right. Might as well call you 2D, yeah?” Murdoc chuckled, hoping Stuart would at least laugh at the poor attempt at humor. He stayed silent, though, and thought deeply, looking down and picking at the blanket on his legs with his free hand.

“2D,” he suddenly said, glancing at Murdoc. “I rather like it, actually. Don’t know why, but it seems to fit.” Murdoc thought about it and nodded slowly, agreeing with Stuart.

“It suits you,” Murdoc parroted, and Stuart smiled hesitantly. “You wanna be called that?” At his nod, Murdoc smiled.

“Alright, 2D. How are you feeling?”

“Like I slammed into the pavement,” he answered wryly. Murdoc wondered how much 2D had actually picked up from his story if he was making jokes about it now.

“Well, you did.” 2D gave him a look and chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Right. Would you mind telling me what happened again? Everything’s all fuzzy.” Murdoc wasted no time in explaining once more, making sure 2D knew what he was saying. The man looked lost occasionally, but when he did Murdoc paused and went through the details once more, slowly, so that he could get it.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, and 2D nodded, quiet. He seemed to be processing what had happened, and Murdoc couldn’t blame him for seeming out of sorts. Like he said, though, he hoped it wasn’t a permanent thing. Although, he _was_ surprised Stuart had bounced back at all, let alone that well. It was impressive.

They stayed like that for a while, watching anything but each other silently. Their hands remained intertwined, sitting atop the thin cover and growing warm from each other’s touch. Occasionally, 2D or Murdoc would move their fingers, rubbing circles into the other’s hand gently, but apart from the small movement, they barely acknowledged each other.

Well, 2D barely did. Murdoc seemed to be immensely aware of him no matter what he was doing, and again it bothered him. At least 2D was awake now.

“Murdoc?” 2D suddenly said, turning to look at him in concern. Murdoc hummed for him to go on, watching him carefully. He looked very pale and bruised, almost like the first time, but he had a spark, however faint, of life shining through his countenance. It made him breathe easier.

“What am I gonna do? It’s been a year, my parents are gone according to you, and I have nowhere else to go.” He looked ready to burst into tears as Murdoc stared at him in puzzlement, wondering how 2D failed to pick up on one crucial fact.

“Mate, mate,” he said, free hand hovering as if to grab 2D’s shoulder. “You’re staying with me, alright?” At Murdoc’s words, 2D seemed to light up, his black eyes appearing less bleak and a small grin stretching across his face.

“Really?”

“I mean, you already _do-_ ” Murdoc began, but 2D cut him off.

“I know, I know,” he murmured excitedly, fingers tapping. “But thank you! Thank you so much. For everything.”

“It’s nothing,” Murdoc mumbled, looking down in embarrassment. He didn’t know how to react, had never received such gratitude from someone else despite his profession. It made him feel warm, a pleasant feeling curling in his stomach and dripping into his blood stream.

“Not nothin’,” Stuart said, shaking his head. “You saved my life, and you let me stay with you, and you took care of me. I can’t…no one’s ever been so nice to me before.” Murdoc felt a pang of _something_ in his heart, felt it clench awfully at 2D’s words and almost shuddered from the intensity.

“People are trash,” Murdoc grumbled, thinking about Butch and his disgusting Uncle Sebastian, and the numerous arseholes he’d met over the course of his thirty-something year affair with life. “How could they treat you like that?” He said the last part quietly, and if 2D heard, he didn’t let on. He grew silent, actually, his brow furrowing as if he were thinking. Murdoc, puzzled, leaned forward to wave his hand in front of 2D’s face. The man startled and turned to look at him as though he forgot Murdoc was there.

“Woohoo,” Murdoc whistled, looking at 2D with concern. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Nothin’ really, but…” 2D trailed off, fingers tapping rhythmically along the rim of the bed. “I think I have Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring in my head. I didn’t even know I knew that.” He seemed equal parts confused and worried, as though having a classical piece of music memorized were something to hold great concern over. Then again, if Murdoc could play something he never learned before, he’d be worried, too.

Murdoc stared at 2D as he tapped before laughing, hand slapping against his thigh and releasing 2D’s now sweaty hand from his grip. 2D looked at him curiously before smiling, missing teeth featuring prominently, and chuckling along.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked.

“It’s just…” Murdoc couldn’t even finish. He spent a few more minutes trying to compose himself, his laughter growing more hysterical as time passed; he finally managed to calm himself after a while.

“It’s nothing,” he assured. It wasn’t nothing, though. He’d been so worried, so used to the forced companionship and the silence and the strange guilt he knew he shouldn’t be feeling but did anyway. Now that 2D was awake, he didn’t feel so bad anymore. It was like a weight had lifted, making him feel a little lighter, and he marveled at the way the other man made him feel so much despite not knowing him so well.

“Alright,” 2D said, having enough sense to read the atmosphere. “Do you know how long I’ll be here, though? Never liked hospitals.”

“They’ll need you to stay for a few days to make sure you don’t relapse,” Murdoc explained as 2D’s face fell. “Don’t be like that. It’s just to be safe, and you’ll come back with me when you’re done. By the way, we need to shop for a bigger flat. Mine’s too small as it is.” 2D nodded, seeming appeased at Murdoc’s words, and relaxed slowly.

A few hours passed, and they made idle chatter. 2D was too tired and out of it to converse much, but the tried to, always making sure Murdoc sat beside him. He even grabbed Murdoc’s hand, pulling it closer to his chest and gripping it tightly, as if afraid to let go. Murdoc supposed he understood why. He was the only familiar thing afforded to 2D, and the companionship Murdoc provided was no doubt appealing to 2D’s addled, doped up brain.

“Hey, Murdoc,” 2D called as afternoon began shifting into night, the light filtering in from the blinds slowly fading into shades of red and orange and purple. “Whatever happened to that band you were starting?” Murdoc opted to look at the floor as he answered 2D’s question, his words tumbling out of his lips in a slurred mumble.

“Never got around to starting it.”

“Why?” 2D pushed, staring at him seriously with his disturbing black eyes.

“Too busy,” he replied, the words much too hurried to be accurately distinguishable but 2D seemed to understand. His face lost some of its color and his brows sunk down to rest just above squinting eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while. “It’s all because of me, innit’? I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t,” Murdoc said, holding up a hand to stop the tirade of apologies. “This is not your fault, 2D. Besides, if I didn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t have, alright?” 2D nodded but something in his expression made Murdoc pause. He looked nervous, almost, his fingers moving faster and faster as they fingered imaginary keys on an imaginary board. Murdoc wondered if he still had Rite of Spring bouncing around in his head, and if that was what he was currently imitating.

“I have an idea,” 2D suddenly said, but he didn’t elaborate. Murdoc motioned for him to continue, noting the hesitance which 2D adopted.

“Why don’t we…that is to say, why don’t we make a band? Start one, just the two of us for now, and find some people as soon as possible.” Murdoc could only stare at the man, his expression no doubt disbelieving, and 2D quickly attempted to wave away his words.

“No, no, I know it’s silly and you probably don’t want to, anyway-!”

“Fine,” Murdoc interrupted, still staring at 2D in disbelief.

“What?”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” 2D’s face lit up, his smile once again displaying his broken teeth and gums.

“Really?” he pushed, as if to make sure Murdoc wouldn’t change his mind. Murdoc was resolute, though; he’d always wanted to be in a band, anyway, and if 2D wanted to make one, then who was he to turn him down?

“Absolutely,” Murdoc said, and 2D smiled a little wider, eyes crinkling at the corners. Murdoc didn’t think he’d get used to seeing him so animated, so alive and happy and excited. And even if he was a little off now, what was there to do? 2D was still so nice, so excited at the prospect of doing something they both enjoyed for a living, and Murdoc couldn’t think of a better person to spend his time with.

“Listen, 2D,” Murdoc said, loath to stand up but he did it anyway. He held onto 2D’s hand, squeezed once, then let it go regretfully, catching 2D’s gaze. “I have to go now. I’ll be back early tomorrow though to make sure you’re alright, yeah?” 2D nodded, his face slightly pinched and worried. He gave Murdoc a final good-bye and Murdoc waved back, feeling 2D’s gaze burning into his retreating form even after he left the room.

He shuddered, though not from fear, and walked back to his station to fix everything before heading out. The staff gave him strange looks, peering at him hesitantly as he made his way out in silence, a smile present on his face. Murdoc grumbled good-naturedly and walked to his car, which one of his colleagues had helpfully moved out of the way after he’d made to move it, and stared at the broken remains of his windscreen.

Evidence of dried blood crusted corners of the splintered glass, making Murdoc’s stomach clench. He wouldn’t be able to drive well if the glass obscured his vision, and the blood only served as a reminder of his ineptitude. He knew he had to get rid of it somehow, seeing as it was late and he didn’t feel like calling for a cab. Before he thought too much of it, his fist smashed into the windscreen, knocking out the rest of the glass. It tinkled on the floor, shard after shard raining down as Murdoc breathed heavily. He glanced at his bloody knuckles, frowning before his lips slipped up into a smirk.

He was in much too good a mood to let anything bother him much. He got in his car and, with slightly hesitant hands, turned the key in the ignition. Thankfully, the engine was still fine, and it started up with as much trouble as it usually did. Murdoc chuckled, turned on the shit radio, and listened to obnoxiously up-beat pop songs as they filtered through the crap speakers.

“It’s all drivel,” he said giddily during the ride back home, his mind already racing with ideas for songs and styles. “Absolute shite.” He parked his car skillfully, not even bothering to lock it as he climbed up the stairs and went to bandage his hand. When he finished, he scrambled for a piece of paper, sat on his couch, and began writing.

His mind raced with possibilities, his excitement building as the words took shape in front of him. 2D’s enthusiasm back in the hospital only served to drive him on, and around one in the morning, Murdoc finished his first song. The lyrics were awful, and his beat could be better, but he didn’t much care. He figured when 2D was released, he’d figure everything out. For now, the euphoria of having his dream possibly realized had him bursting with anticipation. That, coupled with 2D’s newly conscious state, had him unable to sleep the entire night.

Morning came quickly, and Murdoc donned a new pair of scrubs before heading out to the hospital. He couldn’t hold off on seeing 2D, so he told himself he’d get his windscreen fixed as soon as he started heading home. He prayed the entire ride over that no officer would stop him, and thankfully none did, so he was in a pleasant mood when he entered the facility. The others greeted him hesitantly, and he answered politely, clocking in and immediately heading over to see 2D. He figured they wouldn’t hassle him considering 2D had been his charge.

When he entered the room and drew the curtains, 2D was asleep. His hair fluttered near his nostrils and mouth, which gaped open as he sucked in small, raspy breaths. The other eye was still wrapped in gauze, and spots on his face glared purple and red. The cuts he’d acquired were scarred over or stitched; they littered his arms and hands, and clustered along his face.

Murdoc thought he’d be upset, but surprisingly he wasn’t. Knowing that 2D was awake certainly helped, and the fact that he exhibited more signs of life even while sleeping lent him comfort. He smiled gently and pulled up a chair, watching the sleeping man. It scrapped loudly and he winced, hoping he hadn’t woken 2D.

The man stirred, his fingers twitching as his nose wrinkled, and he blearily opened his eye. Murdoc grimaced but watched with happiness as 2D slowly woke, yawning widely and sitting up.

“Murdoc?” he asked, voice rough but better than yesterday.

“Hello, 2D,” Murdoc replied, and 2D reached out a hand to grasp Murdoc’s. He made a face, as though he ate something sour, and turned to face Murdoc.

“I still hate hospitals,” he confided, eye narrowing. “Doc said I gotta stay for a week.”

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Murdoc assured. “It’s just to be safe.”

“So you tell me. Anyway,” 2D sighed, eye squinting, “shouldn’t you be workin’? They told me when you’d come in.” Murdoc glanced at the clock and shrugged, though he knew he had to be at his desk ten minutes ago.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I wanted to see you.” 2D flushed, though it was hard to tell under the bruises, and coughed awkwardly, his grip on Murdoc becoming almost painful. Murdoc wondered where he got the strength, considering he hadn’t moved in a fucking year.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble, though,” 2D said reluctantly. “You should go. I’ll be here all day, unfortunately.”

“Well, you are right.”  Murdoc sighed and stood, his mind flashing to the day before when he’d left in a similar manner. 2D squeezed his hand once before letting go and waving him away, his face anxious. Murdoc grinned at him reassuringly before stepping out and heading back.

The day passed much too slowly. He ached, physically ached, to see 2D, to watch his face as it contorted into its various expressions and watch him move with more life than he’d seen in a while. Murdoc almost groaned at himself for sounding like a pathetic, angsty teenager, but he couldn’t help it. For how little he actually interacted with 2D, the man quickly took over his life.

He wondered when he’d basically become the man’s bitch. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the date.

Ah, but 2D was wonderful. That, he couldn’t deny, so he didn’t even try.

As soon as his shift ended, Murdoc bolted to 2D’s room. He almost ran into the doctor, who had just been exiting, in his excitement.

“Nurse Niccals,” the woman said, looking up from her clipboard and peering through her glasses.

“Dr. Carter,” he greeted, skirting around her. She watched him with an intensity that had him squirming, and he paused in his attempt to escape to glance at her in question.

“What is it?” he asked, willing for her to spit out whatever she wanted to say.

“Mr. Tusspot is healing nicely,” she commented, glancing at her clipboard before looking back at him. “Though it’s only been a day, so I suppose we’ll see how he is in a week. I want to run a scan on him for brain activity to check for damage.”

“Alright. Why are you telling me, though?” he asked, puzzled. 2D was a grown man, and though Murdoc had had custody over him, 2D was more than capable of speaking for himself now that he was awake, brain damage or not.

“Mr. Tusspot asked to defer all medical decisions to you,” she said, red painted lips thinning. “As you are a medical professional, I trust your judgement. However, I will not overlook the fact that he is suffering head trauma because of your negligence. You are lucky he doesn’t want to press charges.” Murdoc blinked at her, forcing himself not to make a face and act like an adult, and nodded, attempting to seem thoroughly chastised. Apparently satisfied with his charade, Dr. Carter nodded curtly and walked off, her heels clicking down the hall.

Murdoc rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the pang of guilt, and walked in. The way 2D’s face lit up when he saw Murdoc had him beaming in response.

“How was your day?” 2D asked him. Murdoc sat down heavily next to him and relayed everything that had happened. He paused when he got to his encounter with Dr. Carter, wondering if he should broach the subject. In the end, he decided it was important enough to warrant a thorough discussion.

“You told Dr. Carter to defer all medical decisions to me,” he said, phrasing it like a statement more than a question. 2D frowned and nodded, looking down.

“I don’t know much about what’s going on,” he said brow furrowing. “I’d rather you make the decisions, since you know more, too.”

“How are you feeling, then?” Murdoc blurted out a minute later, when the silence became too much.

“Well, the morphine is workin’ nicely, I suppose,” 2D relayed, going to chew his lip before remembering his front teeth had been knocked out and frowning. “Don’t feel much. My brain’s all wonky, though.” Murdoc felt his breath catch as he waited for 2D to continue.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” 2D said, struggling to form the words. “It’s like, I think, but it’s not like before, you know? Everything’s jumbled and it’s harder to think, sometimes. I get distracted easily, too. More than before, at least.” Murdoc nodded along, knowing that was the best he could hope for.

“It scares me,” 2D continued, finger twitching atop the blanket. Murdoc grasped both in an attempt to still them; they made him nervous. “I keep thinking that I might not be able to play like before, or sing like before. I haven’t tried.” He looked appropriately shaken, his hands still trembling even as Murdoc attempted to soothe him.

“It’s alright, mate. Even if you can’t play keyboard, I bet you can still sing. Try a bit,” Murdoc encouraged, nodding for 2D to go on. 2D took a shaky breath before letting it out in exasperation, asking Murdoc what song he should sing.

“Start off simple,” Murdoc said, thinking deeply. “Why not some Scott Walker?” 2D thought about it then started humming, notes taking shape as began to prep himself quietly. After a few moments and a few short exercises that Murdoc thought sounded alright, if a bit out of practice, 2D inhaled and began.

And wow. Murdoc had never been so enraptured before. 2D’s voice was as beautiful as he remembered, perhaps more so after not having heard it for so long. It rang in the echoing room, filling the space with golden tones and smooth, sweet lyrics. As 2D finished his portion, Murdoc couldn’t help but hum his approval, his mouth agape and eyes staring straight into 2D’s own.

“Wow,” he whispered when 2D finished nervously, fingers trembling more than before. Murdoc laced his fingers through them comfortingly, the smile on his face making his cheeks ache but he didn’t care. He had half a mind to kiss 2D soundly before he stopped that line of thinking quickly, his face heating lightly.

Where had that come from?

“Is it alright?” 2D pushed, looking more anxious. Murdoc shook his head to dispel his strange thoughts and 2D took it the wrong way, his face falling.

“Whoa, hold on,” Murdoc said, bringing the man’s hands up and stroking gently. “You didn’t even let me speak. 2D, that was gorgeous! Absolutely brilliant! Just…wow!” 2D beamed, face lighting up at Murdoc’s ineloquent compliments.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Again, Murdoc was struck with the urge to kiss him, to bring 2D’s hands to his lips and gently press them to the man’s soft skin. He wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek, to comfort 2D and praise his voice and his kindness and his presence.

Internally, Murdoc was ready to burst. He tried to hide it, though, because he didn’t want to scare 2D. But God, why hadn’t he paid more attention to how pretty 2D was? Because he was. Even now-perhaps more so now-2D looked absolutely stunning, his blue hair framing his creamy skin and black eye staring right into Murdoc’s. It felt like a fire was blooming in his chest, quickly engulfing him, and he couldn’t find anything to put it out. He didn’t even know if he wanted to.

Murdoc and 2D spoke a while longer before Murdoc excused himself, remembering his nonexistent windscreen and heading out to get it fixed. It cost him more than he wanted it to, but he couldn’t afford a new car, and buying a new windscreen was cheaper. Regardless, it was a thoroughly distracting affair, taking up much of Murdoc’s thoughts even as he drove back home and glared at the expensive panel of glass sitting in place.

It was only after he’d put all of his things away and settled on the couch that he thought back to what happened in the hospital.

When, he thought, had he fallen for 2D? Had it been when he’d woken up? When Murdoc had to take care of him for a while? A few months after the incident? Something told Murdoc it was way before that, when he’d first set sights on the man. He remembered thinking 2D had been pretty, all blue and smiles, and when he’d first heard the man sing, he was awestruck. Perhaps it was then, Murdoc figured, and it had only grown from there. Months of watching over him, of feeling pangs riddle his chest and longing to see him even though he couldn’t say anything, flashed in Murdoc’s vision.

Yeah, maybe it was then. At least Murdoc could put a name to his strange feelings now. Equal parts relief, euphoria, and anxiety thrummed under his skin at his realization, making it hard to breathe but Murdoc could only bring himself to feel ecstatic.

Just like before, 2D seemed to be the only thing that made him feel alive.

 

***

 

The week passed quickly. In the interim, 2D managed to get his tests and scans done; some centers of his brain were more active than others, but he hadn’t suffered too terribly. He complained of migraines, but 2D had explained that they were vestiges from his fall out the tree that his mother had mentioned so long ago. She had supplied him with pills, he told Murdoc, and Murdoc promised to try and get him some, too.

Sunday dawned, and 2D was finally able to get out. After an abundance of paper work, the doctor declared him fit enough to leave and left 2D and Murdoc to get to it. 2D was shaky when he stood, though not as shaky as he could have been since Murdoc helped him walk around his room a few times to get him used to the sensation during the observation week. Murdoc helped him up and gripped his arm tightly, shouldering most of 2D’s weight as they walked out and checked out.

Murdoc walked 2D to his car and opened the door, smiling as 2D slumped into the chair and breathed out in relief. He closed the door and walked around, getting into the driver’s seat and helping 2D buckle up. The man smiled graciously at him as his trembling fingers were pushed away, replaced by Murdoc’s much steadier grip. Murdoc made sure he was fastened well, remembering the incident that had 2D in his car in the first place, and started the car, zooming out impatiently and heading for his flat.

2D fiddled with the awful radio, stopping on a pop station, and listened to the music intently, head cocked and eyes squinting. Murdoc watched him out the corner of his eye, 2D’s head bobbing in his peripheral vision. They didn’t say anything until Murdoc parked, the clinking of seatbelts unbuckling filling the air.

“It’s not too bad,” 2D said, “but it’s not great, either. Some of it’s rather awful, actually.” Murdoc grunted his assent, fiddling with the lock to the flat and reaching out to help 2D up the stairs. Seeing as he shook too much and looked ready to slip, Murdoc swooped down and cradled him in his arms. 2D made a noise at the sudden shift, hands clutching at Murdoc’s shirt as he startled.

“A little warnin’, Murdoc,” he grumped, looking at him in distaste. Murdoc grinned and walked up, 2D opening the door for him as the slipped into the flat. Murdoc carefully let him down and 2D took in the sight, eyes roaming over the space and landing on the keyboard sitting in the corner.

“You brought my Casio!” 2D exclaimed, stumbling over and turning it on. His fingers seemed to stop shaking as he started playing, and Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring filled the air loudly. Murdoc stared at him in wonderment, watching the man’s nimble fingers move across the keys in a manner that reminded him of himself when he’d played more piano than bass. Absentmindedly, he glanced at his own piano, and before he knew what he was doing he sat down and started playing an accompaniment. 2D laughed and morphed his own playing to better fit Murdoc’s, the man’s obviously superior skill showing in his ability to adapt.

They laughed as they played, finishing dramatically and looking to each other as Murdoc stood.

“See?” Murdoc said, gesticulating wildly. “I told you you could do it!”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” 2D agreed, cracking his fingers and shaking his hands from the strain he’d put them through. “A little rusty, but not too bad.” He tried to hide it, but his relief oozed noticeably.

“Fucking great, you mean.” They walked closer absentmindedly, eyes never straying from each other, and didn’t notice until their faces were inches away from each other. Murdoc coughed awkwardly and stepped back, and 2D looked at him strangely before doing the same.

“So,” 2D began, attempting poorly to change the subject. “Are you still sure about the band?” Murdoc nodded, becoming more serious than he had been.

“Listen, 2D,” he said, holding a hand up to accentuate his point. “If we’re gonna do this, then we need to start thinking about two things: recruitment and a studio. Preferably one we can live in, since this place obviously isn’t big enough.” 2D asserted his want to start the band and wasted no time in beginning his planning.

“We’ll need a drummer and a guitarist, then. Got any ideas?” 2D’s face fell into one of sheepishness and melancholy. “I don’t really know anyone since, well…” Murdoc shook his head for him to stop, and the words hung between them like weights.

“Oh, I’ve got the perfect idea for a drummer,” commented Murdoc, ignoring the obvious tension. “Name’s Russel Hobbs. Biggest hit on the hip hop scene and one of the best damn drummers I’ve ever seen. His shop isn’t too far from here, actually, and I think we’ll be able to convince him to join if we have something to back it up. Let’s say we get the studio first and write some songs, then we go and meet him, yeah?” 2D nodded, saying he already had some ideas for a few songs but wanted to collaborate with Murdoc more.

“As for a guitarist, I’m not sure. We could always put an ad in the paper, you know?”

“I suppose so, but we should ask around first to be safe.” Murdoc shrugged easily and walked behind his small counter, pulling out a bottle of rum and two glasses.

“Reasonable.” He filled the glasses and handed one to 2D, who took it graciously and drank along with Murdoc.

“Cheers, mate,” Murdoc grinned. “We’ll drink to our new band’s success!”

“We haven’t even gotten everything set yet,” 2D corrected with a matching grin, downing the rest of his drink.

“Ah, but see, this is a certain thing, yeah? Our band will be one of the greatest to ever form! Just mark my words, 2D.”

“I’ll remember that,” 2D said as he poured himself a bit more to drink. A companionable silence greeted them as they finished. Murdoc hummed before clinking his glass and placing it and 2D’s empty one inside the sink.

“Now, then,” he said, turning to face 2D with narrowed eyes and a smirk. “Shall we begin?”

 

***

 

“I feel bad,” 2D admitted that night, when they both set out to sleep. Murdoc looked at him questioningly, taking his customary position on the couch.

“About what, exactly?” What could he possibly have done to feel bad about? He hadn’t done much of anything until recently.

“I pushed you out of your own bed! Why don’t you take it tonight? I’ll sleep here.” He pointed to the couch Murdoc was already resting on, face extremely sincere and nervous. Murdoc blinked once then chuckled, waving 2D away.

“No, no. It’s fine. Besides, you need the rest more than I do.” 2D looked ready to object but thought more of it, attempting to gnaw at his lips in thought.

“Well, the bed’s big. Why don’t we both sleep in it?” he suggested, voice feigning nonchalance.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine with that?”

“Positive.” Murdoc thought about it then shrugged, moving to stand and take his blankets and pillow.

“If you’re sure.” They climbed into bed, 2D carefully dragging his own pillow onto the right side as Murdoc settled on the left. They faced away from each other initially, but after a few minutes Murdoc turned to look at 2D, eyes soft and gentle. 2D seemed to sense him and flipped to face him, as well.

Once again, Murdoc was struck by how wonderful 2D was. He longed to stretch his fingers out and trace the scratches on his skin, to gently caress his battered cheeks and promise him that nothing would ever hurt him again. 2D smiled at him, as if reading his thoughts, and held out his hand, settling it half-way between them. Murdoc snaked a hand out cautiously and laced his fingers with 2D. They fell asleep with their hands locked between them.

In the morning, Murdoc woke up curled into a strange heat, his arms wrapped around something solid but soft. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, glancing down at the blue head of 2D who he figured had cuddled into him during the night. His legs were tangled into the other man’s, arm holding tightly onto the thin frame though the one under 2D had fallen asleep. He carefully extracted that one and shook it, feeling the tingles slowly, but surely and painfully slip away.

When he regained sensation in his arm, he went to card his fingers through 2D’s messy hair, trying to pat it down but making it worse. 2D made a sudden noise and yawned, opening his eyes blearily. He stared up at Murdoc, who didn’t stop his ministrations, and grinned, yawning once again.

“Mornin’,” Murdoc greeted, moving to sit up. 2D squeezed him once before letting him go, sitting up, as well.

“Good morning,” he replied, legs dangling over the edge of the bed as he got up. He glanced at the clock and frowned, scratching at his cheek.

“Why are you up so early?” 2D questioned.

“I have to get to work, mate,” Murdoc explained, sighing as he sat up and walked to the bathroom. “I’ll be gone for a while, but make yourself at home.”

“Can’t I go with you?” he asked tentatively, tapping his fingers in what Murdoc found was a characteristic show of nervousness. Murdoc wondered if he would get in trouble, but since 2D had only just woken up and seemed to be hesitant at best at the idea of being left alone, Murdoc figured he’d risk it.

“I suppose so.” They got ready quickly, 2D slipping into the clothes Murdoc kept stored in the dresser and Murdoc showering and changing into his scrubs. 2D’s clothes seemed ill-fitting now, a little too short but still baggy on his thin frame. Murdoc made a note to take 2D shopping for new clothes later; they were out of style, anyway.

The drive there was uneventful, full of 2D flipping through radio stations and listening to newer hits to figure out what was popular now. Murdoc listened amusedly, sometimes laughing when 2D made a noise of disgust or nodded in approval to whatever hit was on.

“That was awful,” he commented as they pulled into the car park. “Who makes a song about plastic dollies?”

“Apparently Aqua,” Murdoc replied, laughing unreservedly as they walked into the building. Silence greeted them as they walked in, and Murdoc found all of his coworkers staring at them in awe. 2D seemed unnerved by the silence, as well, more so because of the obvious staring the others were occupied with.

“Well, Stuart,” someone finally said. “Glad to see you awake now.”

“Uh,” 2D replied dumbly, obviously unsure how to respond. “Who are you?” It was chaos right after. All of Murdoc’s coworkers crowded around 2D, asking him questions and being an absolute nuisance. Murdoc gritted his teeth as he swatted them away, leading 2D to his work station and fending off any intrusive questions.

He almost choked when Alfred, the nosiest of them all, walked up to them, introduced himself, and promptly asked if 2D and Murdoc were shagging.

“Well, are you?” he asked when he was met with stunned silence. 2D fumbled next to him, his black eyes twitching worryingly.

“I mean, we’ve all been wondering what your relationship is, anyway. We know you two aren’t related since Murdoc is adopted, anyway, and we’d never seen you before he started bringing you in. And sometimes he’d look at you like-” Murdoc stood and interrupted Alfred’s invasive questioning, face alight with fury and unconcealed malice.

“Alfred,” he began, pausing to gather his thoughts. “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking idiot? Shut the hell up and leave, before I shove your foot farther down your throat!” Alfred swallowed and nodded, walking quickly away as his coworkers pretended to not listen.

2D seemed extremely confused-more so than usual, at least-and turned to Murdoc questioningly.

“What was that about?” he asked. “I don’t understand. Why would I be shagging you?” Murdoc shrugged, a twinge of hurt blooming in his chest at 2D’s words, and told him to forget about it.

“People are idiots,” Murdoc hissed before closing his eyes and breathing slowly. 2D nodded and tried to distract him, asking him what he did on a daily basis. Murdoc happily explained.

After an uneventful day, Murdoc rearranged his things and he and 2D set back to the flat, already planning for the writing process for their songs.

“I got some ideas,” 2D repeated, fingers twitching as if to grip something. “All I need is the paper and your help.”

“Same with me,” Murdoc shared, helping 2D out of the car and up the stairs. He still trembled violently whenever he strained himself, so Murdoc decided it was safer to simply stay close to 2D in case anything happened.

As soon as they entered the flat, 2D made for the bedroom, pulling out a notepad and pencil he’d seen on Murdoc nightstand the previous night. He looked down at what was written and stopped, reading over the lyrics Murdoc had scribbled on the page with a furrowed brow.

“This is fantastic,” 2D complimented as soon as he finished. “You’ve got a good idea, but now it just needs a little workin’.” 2D erased some parts, scribbling in his own edits onto the page tentatively. He stared at the paper for a few minutes, tapping the pencil against his lips, before nodding and handing it to Murdoc.

“What do you think?” he asked, watching as Murdoc read over the paper. Murdoc smirked and hummed, making noises of approval. The edits were brilliant, adding a better sense of rhythm and ad upbeat feel that it previously lacked.

“What do I think?” Murdoc parroted, grin stretched so wide on his face that his cheeks hurt. “I think we’ve got the next hit!” 2D shared in his enthusiasm, and the two decided on the name of the song.

“Definitely “Ghost Train”,” Murdoc said, seeing as the line featured heavily in the song and summarized the meaning nicely. 2D agreed, saying it was brilliant, and was so worked up he began scribbling on another sheet. Murdoc helped him, dictating quite a bit of the words, and watched as another song slowly formed on the page.

It took them hours, but after a quick dinner and more head banging, they produced another song.

“I’ll admit, I’m not too good at the rapping bits,” Murdoc said, drinking the glass of rum in his hand sluggishly.

“Neither am I,” 2D groaned, picking at the sheet of paper with the pencil and leaving dots. “We’ll leave that to someone else, then.”

“Everything else is good, though. It’s really…gah, you know? Got a sort of ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly’ feel to it, doesn’t it?” 2D mulled the idea over, humming the lyrics, and concluded similarly.

“Why don’t we call the track “Clint Eastwood” then?” he suggested. “As an homage to him, you know?”

“Ha, brilliant!” Murdoc threw back his head and laughed, 2D’s chuckles filling his ears. In a fit of happiness, he threw his arms around the other man and hugged him tightly; 2D returned his embrace whole-heartedly, thin arms snaking to wrap around Murdoc’s neck.

“We’re doing it, ‘D!” Murdoc exclaimed, bouncing the other man in his arms.

“I know!” he shouted gleefully. “We’re actually doing it!”

Murdoc had dealt with years of shitty bands and shittier people, but that didn’t matter now; he’d waited long to accomplish what he was doing right now, and the reward was sweet. 2D’s companionship was an added bonus, something he cherished and thought made up for the time lost. He wouldn’t waste the time he had now.

“Gah!” he yelled in excitement, thinking of the possibilities and whatever else the future had in store for them. “We need to start looking for a studio now.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” 2D reasoned, glancing at the clock. “You got work and it’s two in the morning.” Murdoc looked to the clock and stared at the numbers, groaning at the thought of working in a few hours.

“You’re right, you’re right.” They stood and prepared to sleep, assuming the same position as the night previous. With muffled goodnights, they fell asleep, and in the morning they woke up as tightly wound as last time.

That day was more subdued, the others keeping to their business and nothing unusual occurring that wasn’t normal. Murdoc and 2D were too hyped to pay much attention, regardless, and while on break they searched for possible venues or buildings to buy.

“Ridiculously pricey,” Murdoc muttered as they shut down yet another place. “And it looks shitty, anyway.”

“Yeah. Don’t get too upset, though. We have time.” They didn’t find anything during their initial search, but it was expected, so it wasn’t terribly disappointing. They went home in the afternoon and tried searching again, but came up empty. They were not deterred, but they now realized how difficult it would be.

“I can always look for work,” 2D offered, wringing his hands as they looked at the pricier areas. “It could help with the pay.”

“It’ll be hard, though,” Murdoc said, glancing at him unsurely.

“I might not be the smartest, but I can do things, you know.” He sounded upset, and Murdoc felt he understood why, so he dropped the subject, assuring 2D that he meant nothing harsh.

“You’re just woken up,” he reasoned, “and you’re still shaky. I just don’t want you collapsing anywhere, alright?”

“Oh,” 2D said, wide-eyed. “Alright.”

“Anyway, we have to keep looking,” Murdoc sighed, clicking through the pages and pages of searches that brought up nothing note-worthy. 2D helped, pointing out the pros and cons of each as Murdoc flipped through the pages.

Two weeks passed in a similar manner. Murdoc and 2D continued to try and write songs, but it was a slow process once they left their initial high. They scoured the internet for possible locations, but came up empty every time, the only prospects way out of their budget.

“Ugh,” Murdoc scowled as they looked through some of the older buildings. “I feels like we’re never gonna find anything.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” 2D chastised, attempting to remain optimistic. “Takes time, yeah?” Murdoc nodded absentmindedly as he clicked next, then paused, staring at the building displayed on the screen.

“Kong,” he said, eyes lighting up with interest. It was in a more undesirable area, near a landfill and built close to a cemetery, but the building itself stood on a hill, mostly away from those areas. It glistened in the photo, its white and glass exterior begging to be looked at closer. 2D hummed, leaning closer to see the picture better.

“Wow, it’s really cheap,” he noticed, pointing at the ridiculously low price. They stared at it longer, reading the description and flipping through the photos before they looked at each other and smiled, whooping in excitement.

“Call now, call now!” 2D chanted, grabbing Murdoc’s phone and handing it to him. Murdoc glanced at the number and dialed, waiting with baited breath as the phone rang.

The call was short and to the point, the seller relieved to finally have someone take the property off his hands. He made sure they knew what they were getting into, but Murdoc could hear the pleading in his voice, noticeable even as he listed the negative aspects of the studio.

“It’s near a landfill, and in the summer it stinks to high heavens,” the man sighed, voice muffled. “The cemetery is very…active, as well. Especially at night.” At that, Murdoc raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips.

“What do you mean _active_?”

“I mean zombies, mate. They’re everywhere, especially at night, so be careful.” Murdoc scoffed, a disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips.

“Zombies? You’ve got to be joking!”

“Afraid not. If you want to stop by and see for yourself, then by all means, do it. But I promise I’m telling the truth.” Murdoc thought about it, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the idea, but figured he’d risk it.

“Doesn’t matter,” he concluded. “Just sell me the property.” The man immediately set up an appointment to settle the details and work on the payment the next day, his obvious relief both disconcerting and fascinating. Murdoc couldn’t care less though, and when he hung up he told 2D what was going on.

“Brilliant!” 2D said, clasping his hands together and smiling. “I can’t wait! The place was perfect!” Murdoc heartily agreed, setting his laptop aside and mulling over the next step of their plan.

“Now we contact Russel,” he told 2D. “As soon as we settle everything tomorrow, we’re going to meet him.”

The next day passed quickly, the anticipation building up between them as they left Murdoc’s workplace early and talked to the seller. After pleasantries were exchanged, they sat down and discussed the plan, filing paper work and working on payment options.

“I have most of the money since I’d been saving up for a while,” Murdoc told him, arm hanging off the back of 2D’s chair idly. 2D leaned into him without seeming to know it, but Murdoc noticed. And, apparently, so did the seller.

“Fantastic,” he said. “What do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m a nurse,” Murdoc replied, glancing pointedly at his uniform.

“It explains the scrubs, yeah,” the man laughed. “And your partner?” Murdoc startled at the usage of the word, wondering what the man was implying, but 2D either didn’t pick up on it or didn’t care.

“I’m unemployed. Just got out of the hospital,” 2D explained, leaning closer to Murdoc in an attempt to seek comfort. Murdoc gently pat his back, squeezing his shoulder.

“Sorry to hear that,” he coughed, slapping a hand onto his knee. “Anyway…” They finished the deal, having successfully signed everything and paid for most of it. Murdoc and 2D triumphantly walked out of the building, hands holding the papers stating their new ownership.

“What time is it?” Murdoc asked him, and 2D reached into his pocket where Murdoc’s phone sat.

“Almost eight.”

“Perfect. The store closes at nine, so we best hurry.” They got into Murdoc’s car and sped off with purpose.

Russel worked at Big Rick Black’s Music Shack a few streets away, which was extremely convenient for Murdoc and 2D when they set out to find him. They parked down the street and hurried into the shop, looking around pointedly for sings of Russel. Seeing as Murdoc was the only one who knew what he looked like, 2D trailed after him as they walked around.

They made their way to the counter, finding no one present, and glanced at each other, puzzled.

“Where-?” A sudden noise startled them, exciting 2D to the point that he jumped into Murdoc’s arms and clung to him. Murdoc looked around them to see a pile of records and albums that had been knocked down, and standing before the mess was Russel. His white eyes, almost as unnerving as 2D’s, glared at the mess in frustration.

“That cracker-ass knocked into them again,” he muttered, and Murdoc just barely made out the outline of another person cowering in the corner. He set to cleaning up the mess, finishing rather quickly, and looked up, just then noticing Murdoc and 2D watching him.

“Can I help you?” he asked, face set in a neutral expression.

“You didn’t mention he was American,” 2D said, and Murdoc looked at him questioningly.

“Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t, I suppose.” Murdoc rolled his eyes fondly and looked back at Russel, who was looking between them strangely.

“Look man, I’m all about pride and all that shit,” Russel said. “In fact, I’m queer myself. But I don’t tolerate PDA in the shop.” He crossed his arms, his brow furrowed.

“PDA…?” Murdoc repeated, before remembering 2D who was still in his arms. He blanched, letting go as 2D rolled out of his grip and stood on wobbly legs. Murdoc held his elbow to steady him before leaving him to stand.

“So,” Russel began, squeezing behind the counter and resting his arms on the display case. “What can I do for you?” Murdoc cleared his throat as he dug into his back pocket, producing folded pieces of paper and handing them to Russel.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “We’re starting a band and we want you to join.” Murdoc explained everything to Russel and allowed him a few minutes to look over the songs and document displaying his ownership of Kong Studios, as Murdoc named it.

“I’m not so sure, man…” Russel muttered, expressing a doubt Murdoc had been prepared for. “Look, your stuff is great, and I see you’ve got everything put together, but I don’t know if I want to dive into something that might not succeed, you understand?”

“And we understand,” Murdoc shushed, holding up a placating hand. “Just give it a few months. Come live with us, settle in and help us with the songs, and if you don’t like it after, say, six months, then you can leave, no strings attached. What do you say?” Russel’s lips thinned, brow furrowing further, before he nodded slightly, handing the papers back to Murdoc.

“Alright,” he affirmed. “I’ll give it a shot. Let me give you my info and call me when everything’s ready for me to move in, yeah?” Murdoc nodded brightly, grinning at 2D who stood silently next to him.

“You need anything else?” Russel asked, wincing when he heard another crash somewhere in the back of the store.

“Yes, actually. You heard of any good guitarists?” Russel chewed on the thought, looking up as if the answers were written in the ceiling.

“Maybe. I heard a chick named Paula Cracker was lookin’ for a gig, if you wanna check her out. She works here on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Murdoc thanked him, grabbed the paper where Russel had written his info, and walked out, grabbing 2D by the hand excitedly.

“We got him!” he whooped, dancing on the pavement wildly. 2D joined in, grinning. The garnered questioning looks, but they didn’t care, dancing all the way to the car and hollering as they jumped in.

“Tomorrow’s Thursday,” 2D pointed out, flipping through the stations as he was wont to do. “Should we see Paula tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Murdoc said, tires squealing in protest as he drove away. “Do you want to see Kong tomorrow, too?”

“Yes!”

“Ha, there we go!”


	4. We'll Be Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only they knew.

Murdoc and 2D looked at the woman standing behind the counter, sunglasses hiding her eyes and lips painted blood red. Murdoc wondered if she was simply being pretentious since the shop was dimly lit as it was, offering bare hints of lighting for aesthetic purposes.

“Ahem,” Murdoc coughed, gaining her attention. She stared dully at him, waving her hand for him to go on.

“Are you Paula Cracker?” he asked, not bothering with any small talk. She nodded once, asking why he wanted to know, and he plowed on. “We’re starting a band, and we’re wondering if you’d like to audition for it.”

At Murdoc’s words, the woman perked up, smirking slyly.

“Why not?” she said, moving out from behind the counter and gesturing for them to follow her. They moved into a backroom that stunk of pot and cheap beer, various instruments strewn across the floor and walls. Paula picked up a guitar, tuning it by ear.

Murdoc heard the pluck of strings, taking note of her adjustments. He frowned when she left one of the strings too flat and the other too sharp, but let it be, waiting to see if she’d notice.

“Wrote this one myself,” she said before playing some strange tune. It wasn’t so bad, but it wasn’t good either, and her fingers slipped quite a few times as she played. 2D frowned, noticing the clumsiness, and Murdoc caught his eyes.

“How long have you been playing?” 2D asked when she finished, eyeing her intently. She grinned, flipping her hair flirtatiously, and walked over to him, standing too close for comfort. Murdoc felt a pang of jealousy burn in his stomach, but he ignored it.

“A few years now,” Paula admitted, eyes roving 2D’s form. “I don’t think I caught your name, by the way.”

“I’m Stuart,” he said, stepping back when she leaned far too much forward. “That’s my best mate, Murdoc.” Murdoc raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn’t notice, too focused on 2D.

“Well, Stuart. How was it?” 2D tried to smile, but it came out forced, a noticeable sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Oh, uh…um,” he stuttered, stepping back again. “It, uh, it was…nice.”

“And?”

“And…not…terrible?” Paula straightened and huffed, crossing her arms.

“Listen, Paula,” Murdoc interjected, grabbing 2D possessively by the shoulders and standing between them as he pushed 2D out. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” Her jaw dropped open and Murdoc smirked at her as he and 2D filed out, jogging out the main entrance and into the car.

“Ugh,” Murdoc groaned, making a face. “That wasn’t promising. Actually, she was terrible.” 2D frowned, fingers tapping on the dashboard.

“She wasn’t so bad,” he said, but the words sounded hollow and unsure. “She needed a little practice, maybe? It _was_ very sudden.”

“No, she was awful,” Murdoc said plainly, side-eyeing his companion. “And she made you uncomfortable.”

“No-”

“Don’t even try, Stu,” Murdoc interrupted, shaking his head. 2D’s mouth flopped for a few seconds before stilling, unable to argue.

“Are we going to see Kong, then?” Murdoc nodded, already heading for their new studio. They drove for about two hours, their trip occupied by bursts of comfortable conversation and silence. 2D sang for a while, shaking with anticipation, and Murdoc drummed on the wheel in rhythm with him, humming along to whatever tune spilled from his lips.

They were laughing as they pulled into the area where Kong Studios was located, at the foot of the hill that contained the building. To the left was the landfill, as grotesque and full as the pictures had portrayed it, and to the right stood the cemetery. As soon as he killed the engine, groans filled the air, and Murdoc’s hair at the back of his neck stood in warning. 2D squawked in surprise, hands flying up as if to shield himself.

“He wasn’t lyin’!” he yelled, pointing repeatedly at the figures moving slowly in the distance. “This place is crawling with zombies!”

“I didn’t even think they were real,” Murdoc murmured, eyes wide in astonishment. Some of the figures seemed to be heading toward them, their moans growing louder with proximity, and in a panic Murdoc restarted the engine. He drove over a few zombies, the crunch of their bodies reminding him too much of Stuart’s incident to be comfortable, but he swallowed his anxiety and continued his trek up the hill.

They flew into the parking lot located under the studio, stumbling out of the car and locking it before running inside. With rapidly beating hearts and winded breath, they locked the door, turning to face the interior.

It was surprisingly nice, all sleek and white and almost new, a few tears marring the otherwise nice surface. The walls were in fine condition, and it had all the necessary accessories a studio needed for a lobby. A receptionist’s desk, a few chairs, and a map of the building’s layout sat unobtrusively in the spacious room, painting a nice picture of the building’s potential.

2D looked around, open-mouthed, and checked everything, even going so far as to peek behind the desk. He screamed and fell back, landing hard on his ass and wincing as he scooted away.

“Look!” he yelled, finger shaking as he pointed. Murdoc frowned and went to stand in front of the desk, peering questioningly over. Sitting on the floor was a rotting headless carcass, its body set in an uncomfortable sitting position and covered in slime and stitches. Murdoc scrunched his nose and made a disgusted noise, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep himself from vomiting from both the smell and the sight.

He looked at 2D, letting his hand drop as his tongue lolled out in disgust. 2D scowled, forgetting his fright, and gazed at Murdoc’s face in fascination.

“Oh my God,” he said, standing up and inching closer to Murdoc. “Your tongue…” Murdoc realized it was still out and quickly pulled it back in, feeling self-conscious.

“It’s always been long,” he hurriedly explained, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. “You won’t see it again. I promise.”

“Why?” 2D asked, baffled. “It’s wicked!”

“You think so? Most people are rather unnerved by it.”

“Yeah! I wish mine was as long. The only thing I can manage is sticking it up my nose.” That startled a laugh out of Murdoc, who haltingly told 2D that his was useful for that, too, but he could do quite a lot with his freakish tongue.

“Everyone I’ve shagged has loved it, at least,” he admitted. 2D suddenly stiffened, face going blank, and he quieted, as if he were in deep thought. Murdoc wondered what he said to garner such a reaction.

“2D? 2D? Stu? Stu-Pot?” he asked, trying to get his attention. “Stuart!”

“Wha-?” 2D blinked, shaking his head to focus himself.

“What got into you, mate?” Murdoc asked. He was worried that 2D might collapse at some point, the strain on his body too much for him to handle so soon.

“Eh, nothing,” 2D reassured, face going pink. “I’m fine. Why don’t we check out the other rooms, yeah? I want to pick mine.” Murdoc looked at him suspiciously but nodded his assent, gazing at the wall map as he tried to figure out where they were.

They ended up exploring the entirety of the studio, picking out rooms and setting others aside for other uses. Every purposed room seemed to be in alright order, though they found a few more rotting masses of flesh that they’d hire someone else to take care of. All in all, it was as perfect as they’d hoped, and when they returned home Murdoc began setting everything up in order to move out.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” 2D said as he and Murdoc stuffed their meager belongings into boxes. “I’ve only ever dreamed.”

“Me, too,” Murdoc hummed, throwing his clothes into a large box. He tried to control his eagerness, but it was extremely noticeable, even 2D picking up on it easily. He made no more than a passing comment, but Murdoc felt his chest flutter in anticipation regardless.

“By tomorrow, we’ll be set to go!” he shouted.

“What about your job, Murdoc?” 2D suddenly announced, looking vaguely worried.

“Oh, I’ll still be working until we can get on our feet,” Murdoc explained, waving away 2D’s concerns. “I’ll commute.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” They talked no more about Murdoc’s job, opting to finish their packing and calling Russel to tell him the news. The man took it in stride, saying he’d have everything ready by the end of the week and still planned on working until they were afloat, just like Murdoc.

When everything was done, the two surveyed the boxes littering the now empty room, arms resting on each other’s shoulders.

“Everything’s set,” Murdoc said, if only to break the silence.

“All we need is a guitarist,” 2D reminded him. Murdoc nodded slowly, mulling the thought over.

“I’ll just put an ad in the paper at the end of the week and see what happens.”

“Seems reasonable.”

 

***

 

A light breeze picked up the leaves that flew across the pavement, pressing them down the hill and into the landfill. It swept most of the odor away, too, making the air smell cleaner. Still, the scent of rotting flesh was strong, and no amount of scrubbing could wash it away. The cemetery was too close, too active, and the corpses were disgustingly odorous.

Boxes were piled on the side entrance where the carpark stood, indicating their progress, and Murdoc and 2D finished setting the last of them down to dispose of later. Murdoc wrinkled his nose, looking out at the entrance of the carpark to see the whirlwind of dead leaves and junk flying away.

Everything had been set up; their rooms, which sat adjacent to each other, were arranged, containing their things, and Russel was inside, busily setting up the kitchen appliances. He’d already taken care of his stuff, too, having chosen a room on a different floor for privacy’s sake. Murdoc could understand, seeing as they barely knew each other.

“Hey, Muds,” 2D called, snapping him out of his thoughts. He’d started calling Murdoc that after Russel had given him the nickname, saying it was short and sounded cool. “I think Russel is calling for us.” Murdoc’s eyebrow shot up as he walked inside, 2D trailing behind him, and made his way into the kitchen.

It wasn’t as clean as it had been before they’d moved in, since various appliances and now took up space on the counters and evidence of eaten food littered the room. Russel stood with his back to them, grunting as he set up the stove before pushing it in and setting it in place. He grabbed a towel to wipe his hands and looked back, silently acknowledging them.

“Is everything good to go?” he eventually asked.

“All set up and running,” Murdoc grinned. “All we need is our guitarist now, and I’ve already put an ad in the paper, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Russel said, waving him away. “Now get out of here, you green eyesore. I’ve got to set this stuff up.” Murdoc huffed, but he knew the remark was made in jest, so it didn’t sting as much as he thought it would. 2D cracked a smile, so any vestiges of anger immediately evaporated, replaced by warm affection. He paled when he realized what he was feeling, trying to stop the onslaught of emotions unsuccessfully.

“It’s not so bad,” 2D soothed. “It compliments you for some reason. At least you only ever wear black, anyway, so nothing clashes.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Murdoc grumbled, leading them to the reception room. He stopped short when he heard the sound of squealing tires accompanied by obnoxiously loud knocking. Murdoc glanced at 2D, silently asking if he was expecting anyone, but 2D only looked at him in confusion. Russel barreled in, brandishing a ladle and asking what the hell that noise was.

“Someone knocked on the door,” 2D said as Murdoc walked over, hand reaching for the doorknob. “No, don’t touch it! What if it’s a murderer? Or a _zombie_?” Murdoc made a face at 2D, asking him if he was serious before shaking his head and opening the door.

He glanced around, blinking when he saw no one around, and was about to close the door when he looked down and noted the Fed-Ex crate on the floor. It was huge, big enough to fit a small person, and he threw the door open wide enough to get the box in.

“Hey, Russ, come help me drag this thing in,” Murdoc beckoned, and the two grunted as they lifted the admittedly heavy box to sit in the middle of the room. Russel made to grab the scissors they had when suddenly the box trembled, shaking violently and sending the men stumbling back in terror. The tremors continued, and Murdoc grabbed the scissors resting on the desk clumsily and brandished them before himself, ready for whatever thing came out.

The box exploded open, Styrofoam peanuts covering the carpeted floor, and a small girl jumped out, landing perfectly on her feet and wielding a massive guitar. Murdoc felt his grip on the scissors slack as he dropped them, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the small girl smiled at them. 2D gasped beside him as Russel muttered curses to himself, all of which he agreed with though he didn’t voice his assent.

The girl’s fingers suddenly started moving, strumming the guitar with a ferocity and skill Murdoc had never witnessed before. Perhaps the most impressive guitar solo ever performed in the history of man emerged from the combination of notes the young girl strummed and plucked, her hands moving almost too fast to catch. Murdoc and the others gaped, even as she slowed down and finished. She looked barely phased, her slanted eyes closed even as she gave them a toothy grin. She began yelling in another language-Japanese, Murdoc vaguely picked out-and gesturing wildly, moving the guitar around as though it weighed nothing.

“Noodle,” she finished, the only word they managed to understand from the flurry of sounds that were thrown at them. She continued to smile at them, though they merely stared at her. Murdoc didn’t know how long they stood like that, but it felt like an eternity. After a while, he managed to unfreeze himself, working his jaw as he thought about what to say.

“That’s, err…The best playing I’ve ever heard,” he admitted, not knowing what else to say.

“ _Hai_ ,” the girl nodded, but Murdoc wondered if she understood anything he was saying. She seemed only able to speak in Japanese.

“Why, exactly, are you here?” he finally questioned. “And why were you in a Fed-Ex crate?” The girl tilted her head, finger touching her lips, before she beamed and reached into the box and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to Murdoc. He grabbed it cautiously and smoothed it out, astonishment filling him when he saw the contents.

It was the ad he’d placed just yesterday for a new guitarist. He gaped at it before looking up at the girl, her smile still plastered on her face.

“Are you auditioning for my band?” he asked in disbelief. Again, she nodded, pointing at the paper and muttering a few more words he didn’t understand.

“She’s saying she was sent to audition,” Russel suddenly spoke up, appearing behind Murdoc and reading the paper over his shoulder. Murdoc looked at him questioningly.

“You know Japanese?”

“Picked it up when I went to Tokyo for a few gigs.” Right, Murdoc remembered. Russel was a genius.

“What about your parents?” 2D spoke up, stumbling over to the girl. She grinned at him, holding her hand out to shake. 2D took it hesitantly as she spoke again, and Russel translated for her.

“She doesn’t remember much apart from waking up in the crate and reading the ad over.” 2D’s face fell, his obvious empathy clouding his face. Murdoc’s heart thudded, everything in his being telling him to reach over and comfort the other man. He resisted, albeit barely.

“Well,” he finally coughed. “You know, that’s the best audition I’ve ever heard. The best _playing_ I’ve ever heard. If you want to be part of the band, then you have the position, yeah?” She nodded and jumped in excitement, coaxing a few more notes from her guitar. 2D laughed, watching her bounce, and joined her, sharing in the enthusiasm. Russel smiled behind him and Murdoc grinned, feeling as though something finally slid into place. The last piece of the puzzle.

“She looks so young. No older than ten, I think,” Russel told Murdoc as 2D and the girl continued to play around. “We don’t even know her name or where she’s from, specifically, so we got to find out. But like I said, man, she doesn’t remember much.”

“We’ll get everything ready for her in the meanwhile,” Murdoc acknowledged. “As for the name…why not Noodle? It’s the first thing she said that I actually understood.” At the mention of the name, the girl looked up, pointing to herself and muttering Noodle once more. Murdoc nodded, unsure what she was asking, before the girl beamed again and nodded herself.

“She likes the name,” Russel said, looking at her fondly. “Cute little thing, ain’t she?”

“Yeah,” Murdoc said, glancing between 2D and Noodle. “Very.” He was glad Russel was too preoccupied with planning Noodle’s living arrangements to notice.

“We’ll need new clothes, a room, some supplies,” he babbled, listing them off on his fingers. Murdoc took note of the items, resolving to go with 2D to the store later to pick up the necessities first as Russel watched her. He was the only one who understood her, after all.

“My name’s 2D,” the man said, pointing to himself and repeating it slowly.

“Toochi,” she replied.

“Aw,” 2D cooed, leaning down to be at eye-level with her. “That’s adorable! You can call me that if you want.”

“Toochi,” she repeated. 2D almost lost it, obviously taken with her, and began playing with her again.

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Murdoc muttered fondly, forgetting Russel was behind him. A hand suddenly fell on his shoulder, startling Murdoc, and he looked up over at Russel’s knowing face.

“You’re the most obvious person I’ve ever seen,” he commented, grinning. “You know, I thought you two were together when I first saw you.”

“Yes, I gathered,” Murdoc said darkly.

“Whatever, Muds. Like I was saying, I thought you guys were together, but when I found out you weren’t I wondered if you two were simply too stupid to realize, since you’re both so obvious.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Murdoc tried, attempting to slip away from Russel’s firm grip and failing. “2D doesn’t even feel like that.” Russel leveled him a look and was about to speak when a sudden noise caught their attention. They turned to see Noodle holding 2D above her head, spinning him around crazily as he gestured and yelled for her to let him down.

“Whoa, whoa!” Murdoc exclaimed walking over and grabbing 2D. He looked down at Noodle in wonderment.

“How the hell did you do that?” he asked her, but she shook her head and went to pick up her guitar. She ignored them as she sat down and started playing again, calls for her to turn around falling on deaf ears.

“Jesus Christ,” Russel said, watching her warily. “That’s some Superman shit.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” 2D groaned, holding his stomach. Murdoc remembered that 2D was in his arms and set him down, holding him up as 2D stumbled dizzily. When 2D finally regained his senses, they began planning what to do with Noodle, looking at the map to figure out where to put her room. The only available one was next to Russel, and when they asked her if she minded, she shrugged. They figured she didn’t, then, and after they finished setting everything else up, Murdoc and 2D got in Russel’s car and set out.

It was only three in the afternoon, so they had enough time to buy another bed, which they stuffed in various pieces into the backseat, a mattress, which they strapped to the top, and a few pieces of furniture. The car was big enough to hold everything and a bit more, so after they bought her some necessities, they went to a clothing shop.

They walked to the girl’s section, holding out shirts and dresses for Noodle to wear. A few customers gave them strange looks, but 2D didn’t notice and Murdoc paid them no attention. He held out a small black shirt with no print, gesturing for 2D to walk over and look at it with him.

“That’s not very exciting,” 2D said.

“That’s coming from you, mate. All you wear is strange T-shirts and jeans.” 2D looked offended, pointing to his ‘Hello Kinky’ shirt.

“These are funny, I’ll have you know. Very witty,” he defended. “That’s just boring, though. Simple black shirt doesn’t seem very nice.”

“We don’t know what she likes,” Murdoc reminded him. “It’s best to play it safe for now before we set out to buy her proper clothing. We should at least buy some neutral shit and a few nightclothes before we go back, just in case.” 2D thought deeply and agreed, choosing a few gender-neutral pieces and some shorts. Murdoc went to pick up some shoes, grabbing a pair of dull red slip-ons before walking back to 2D.

“Here we go,” he said, grabbing half the things in 2D’s arms and heading to the checkout. The woman at the till attempted to make small talk with them, but Murdoc cut her short, already knowing what she was going to imply.

“That was rude,” 2D said as they left, each holding a bag.

“Not as rude as she was, mate. I’m tired of people asking the same shitty question.” They dropped the bags into the backseat, checked to make sure the mattress was strapped properly, then headed out, driving back to Kong as fast as possible.

When they got there, they tracked down Russel, who was showing Noodle the various rooms in the studio. They enlisted his help in carrying the newly purchased furniture and clothing into Noodle’s new room, promising Noodle to take her to the shops soon so she could buy clothes she liked and get some things to decorate her room. She nodded enthusiastically, jumping on the bed as soon as they finished setting it up and looking at them as they continued fixing things in her room.

“Done!” 2D exclaimed as he put the last of her clothes inside a dresser. Murdoc hummed approvingly and draped an arm around 2D’s shoulders, anxiously watching the way he heaved at the strain of bringing things in and setting them up.

“You alright?” he asked, and 2D nodded.

“Just a little winded.” Russel groaned and slapped a hand to his face across the room, which earned him puzzled looks from the two men.

“Just go,” he told them, gesturing to the door. “Noodle wants me to stay and explain a few things.” Murdoc rolled his eyes but walked out, arm resting on 2D. His companion snaked his own arm around Murdoc’s shoulders as they left, heading upstairs via elevator to their new rooms.

“I feel like we’re missing something,” 2D suddenly said, stopping in the hallway.

“Like what?” Murdoc questioned.

“I dunno. Something important?” 2D and Murdoc frowned, 2D scratching his head in thought.

“Well, if it’s important, it’ll come to you,” Murdoc reasoned, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m gonna go sleep now. Have fun.” Murdoc turned and walked into his room, feeling immensely tired from the day’s work. He’d have to get up early the next day to make it on time, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He hoped that since they now had Noodle, they could start recording soon and he could quit his job.

He slipped under the covers, noting that it was only eight, and sighed, falling asleep almost immediately.

 

***

 

A sudden noise woke Murdoc with a start. He placed a hand over his racing heart, his breathing erratic from the sudden slip into wakefulness, before he heard the noise again. Someone was knocking loudly on his door, and he wondered who would come at one in the morning-as his clock told him-to wake him up.

With a loud groan and a muttered curse, he got up and opened the door, glaring at the person before realizing it was 2D. He looked shaken, his eyes blown wide and underlined with tired bruises, and his fingers tapped against each other.

“What’s wrong, ‘D?” he asked, throwing the door open wider and letting the man come in. 2D settled on the bed, playing with his hands quietly, before he looked up at Murdoc.

“I c-can’t sleep,” he stuttered, voice thick with emotion. “C-Can I stay with you? Please?”

“Suppose so,” Murdoc said, guiding 2D under the covers and going in next to him. 2D uttered a quiet thank you before he moved closer to Murdoc and sighed, falling asleep quickly. Murdoc followed him shortly after.

 

***

 

“A name!” 2D exclaimed when Murdoc came back to Kong to find them all in the kitchen. “We forgot a name for the band!”

“Huh,” Murdoc said, stunned. “How the hell did we forget that?”

“Dunno.” Murdoc sat down next them, thinking about possible band names that sounded at least remotely unique. He reached for the piece of paper and pencil that sat on the kitchen counter, tapping the eraser against the pad.

“Well?” Russel said, raising an eyebrow. “We gonna name this shit or what?”

“Hold on, I’m thinking,” Murdoc hissed, waving an arm to silence him.

“What about Blur?” 2D asked.

“Isn’t that already a band?” Murdoc said. “With that Albarn fellow we said sounded like you?”

“Oh, is that the name? Humph.” Murdoc rolled his eyes and began scribbling on the paper, writing various names or doodling as he thought about it. The others gave him suggestions-even Noodle, who reached for the paper and pencil and wrote a few suggestions in Japanese that Murdoc turned down since he didn’t know what they said-but none of them seemed right.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, turning the paper over to write on the blank space. “What about Gorilla?”

“It’s good,” 2D said, looking unconvinced. “But…”

“It doesn’t sound right,” Russel finished, before turning to Noodle and explaining what happened. Noodle brought a finger to her lips thoughtfully before grinning and reaching for the pencil again, tapping it impatiently as Murdoc slowly handed her the paper. She scribbled on it quickly before handing it back, face proud and smug.

“Gorillaz?” Murdoc repeated, letting the name roll on his tongue before grinning. “Oh, I like that.” The others voiced their agreement, cheering Noodle’s successful change and the naming of their new band.

“From now on, mates,” Murdoc said, laughing as he stood up and placed his fists on his hips. “We are _Gorillaz_!” They clapped and cheered, discussing the possibility of recording some songs or writing the next day.

“I want to start as soon as possible,” Murdoc said, jabbing a finger on the table to accentuate his point. “I don’t want to commute every bloody day, and my coworkers have been getting more annoying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Russel said, standing up. “We’ll get started. I’m gonna go play with the equipment today to make sure everything’s up and running.”

“Make sure you work on “Clint Eastwood”!” 2D exclaimed as he walked out, earning a thumbs up from Russel.

“Del and I will get right on it, ‘D.” 2D nodded and turned back to face Noodle and Murdoc, opening his mouth to say something before Noodle started speaking rapidly and pointing at the door. She jumped down, saluted them, and left, smirking at them.

“Strange,” he said, watching her go. “I was gonna say something about Russ and Del.”

“What about them?” Murdoc questioned, standing and cracking his back.

“They’re good for each other, I think,” 2D said, kicking his chair in as he stood up, too. “Remember when we first met Del?” It was hard to forget.

Murdoc hadn’t believed Russel when he told them that the spirits of his friends possessed him after an incident in the States. Looking back on it now, he wondered why he’d ever expressed doubt when fucking zombies littered the area around Kong, but he digressed. Anyway, Russel had assured them that it was true, and had even called on Del, his best friend and the most prominent of the spirits, to talk to them.

They found out a bit about Russel’s past through Del, and found that both Russel and Del were extremely talented rappers. When 2D and Murdoc heard that, they knew it would simply be a matter of getting the two of them to work on “Clint Eastwood” for it to be finished.

During that time, though, Murdoc had noted the closeness of the two, how they seemed to be shouldering the line between best mates and more. It was strange seeing Russel so fond of someone, but when he thought of himself, who was Murdoc to judge? He was in love with his best mate, too.

“How could I forget?” Murdoc said, finally answering 2D’s question. “Scared the shit outta me.”

“But I don’t know,” Murdoc said after a while, when they were both in the elevator heading up to their floor. “Del’s dead, living in Russel’s body. I don’t think it’ll work out well.”

“You never know,” 2D said, and Murdoc wondered how this had become his life. Not that he was complaining, he thought as 2D held his hand as they walked down the hall. But ghosts, zombies, his own band…it all seemed so surreal, like a dream. He prayed it wasn’t.

“Guess not,” Murdoc said, leaving the conversation at that. He swung their connected hands idly as they entered his room, kicking his shoes off and tossing them near the bed. 2D followed suit, flinging his long legs to recline comfortably on the mattress. 2D pointed at the various posters hung in Murdoc’s room, asking where he heard of them or why he listened to them. Murdoc explained gladly, giving stories about each one and sharing a few tales about his earlier ventures in bands.

“You remember Butch?” Murdoc said, scowling at the name. “The bastard that ran you over?”

“Well, I never saw him, but I remember you telling me about him,” 2D said, frowning slightly.

“Yeah, well, when I was in his band, I hated him. Loathed him completely,” Murdoc began, waving his arms to express the amount of hatred he held for the wanker. “One day, I remember clearly, he walked up to me and told me I was shit. I didn’t take to kindly to it.” Murdoc told the story, watching 2D’s face as he explained what happened and how he felt when he’d beat Butch’s face in, the aftermath of the encounter and his subsequent unsuccessful attempts to start a band of his own.

“Then Rocky came along, and he was damn good. Made me believe I could do it, you know? And then I ran into you, and you were bloody amazing! Fucking great voice, amazing keyboard skills, pretty face, everything! You were- _are_ -perfect,” he babbled before he realized what he said. He stopped, dumbfounded, and stared at the ceiling, waiting for 2D to say something. When he didn’t, Murdoc turned to him, hand held out as if to placate.

“Listen, Stu,” he started, before 2D hushed him with a finger pressed to his lips and a look.

“Murdoc,” he said, sitting up and looming over the other man. He was all bone and pale skin and bruises, but Murdoc had never felt so intimidated, the man’s black eyes boring with such an intensity into his own that he felt breathless.

“Murdoc,” he tried again, licking his chapped lips. Murdoc tried hard not to follow the movement. “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” Murdoc managed, not daring to look away and not wanting to, not when 2D was leaning closer and closer.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“You’ve told me that already.”

“No,” 2D said, shaking his head and cutting him off again. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Murdoc’s, a gentle kiss that ended too quickly. Murdoc tried following him as he pulled away but 2D pressed a hand to his chest, effectively stopping him.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” 2D said earnestly, leaning closer again. The kiss he gave Murdoc sent his toes curling, and Murdoc’s hands reached up hungrily to tug at 2D’s hair and bring him closer. Using a few tricks he’s learned from years of practice, Murdoc made 2D gasp and moan into his mouth, adding his tongue to draw out little noises from the other man. 2D did the same, kissing Murdoc within an inch of his life and then some, before reaching to undo the other man’s belt.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he admitted, hand reaching in to palm.

“God, me too,” Murdoc admitted. “Me too.”

“And when you told me about your tongue,” 2D said, tugging and earning a shaky gasp from Murdoc. “Unbelievable.”

“Let’s see if I can put it to good use then, eh?” 2D nodded enthusiastically, pressing his lips to Murdoc’s again. Murdoc kissed back earnestly, sweetly, fingers curling in 2D’s hair as his body shivered with pleasure.

Hours later, after they’d both climaxed and fallen asleep, Murdoc woke up with 2D in his arms, his stomach pressed against the man’s back. A few minutes passed, and 2D yawned, waking up with him. He turned, facing Murdoc, and hugged him tightly, hands digging into Murdoc’s shirtless back.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” 2D asked.

“You and me? We’ll be fine,” Murdoc said, smiling kindly at him. “And the band? Well, 2D…” He thought for a while, wondering what to say, before the words came to him. He stroked 2D’s hair, the other man stroking Murdoc’s back similarly, and grinned, all sharp teeth and proud confidence.

“Of course we’ll make it. We’re Gorillaz!”


End file.
